arrows, trust and pixie dust
by dee-thequeenbee
Summary: Collection of OutlawQueen OS from tumblr
1. there, and back again

_Written for Stiene, based on the prompt: **You don't understand, you should never know.**_

* * *

 **There, and back again**

 _\- 3.21 AU - Regina and Robin fall into the time vortex instead of Emma and Killian, but they find a very different scenery._

Emma was gone, and Hook after her. Regina walked away and exited, slamming the door behind her. She stopped in the middle of Granny's outside. She heard the door open, and she lifted her eyes to the sky, letting out an annoyed huff.

" _Grandpa, what is that?" said Henry, pointing at the sky, and everyone turned around, following the direction of his finger. A bright, golden column was spreading up in the sky. "That is a problem," stated Gold. "And we need to avoid getting close, before having figured out how to solve it"._

"Regina, love, don't worry," came his gentle voice, and she didn't turn, but leant on his embrace when he circled her waist. "Emma and Henry will stay in Storybrooke, give her time," Robin murmured, and she nodded.

"I know," she answered. "I'm just pissed off… you've seen how it was for me, during the Missing Year," she murmured, and heard his sad sigh of agreement. "And… she dared to _think_ about taking him away _again_ …" she lowered her eyes, and he dropped a kiss to her hair. "I know, love, I know".

She turned to face him, still enveloped in his arms. "I need fresh air," she said. "Are you completely adverse to a magical trip?"

"Not completely," he smiled, and she waved her hand, making them appear in the woods.

When he noticed their surroundings, he squeezed her hand lightly. "I thought you despised the smell of forest," he mocked her, but she shook her head and started walking. "Not anymore," she answered. "Not since… what's that?" she had seen the yellow explosion of magic in the sky, and Robin turned to watch.

"We have to go and find out what…" Regina started, and before she could finish, she had transported them to the barn.

"…this is," she ended.

"Wait," he grabbed her arm, "it could be dangerous, we should call the others,"

"We can do it," she smirked, and turned to open the door, but the door slammed open, and the golden vortex attracted them inside.

They were still holding hands, and Regina tried to make them disappear again, but before they could even blink, they were falling into the hole…

Regina felt the deep smell of grass fill her nostrils, and she groaned – the impact had been quite powerful. She opened her eyes – the sudden loss of light made her blink. It was nightfall, and they were surrounded by trees. She turned, to see Robin on her left. He was rubbing his back – he was already up, and he extended and arm to help her. She snorted, feeling her heels sink into the squashy ground.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"More like when" Robin answered. He took a deep breath, looking at the trees. "This is the Enchanted Forest… and I think we just travelled in time," he pointed at a tree: there was a white poster hung to the trunk, and it said _Prince John – Coronation – All hail the king_.

"Oh my god," whispered Regina. "Prince John, I was like… twenty… when he became king," she remembered. "At least we'll avoid meeting my evil self," she shrugged, and Robin looked at her, she had diverted her gaze down.

He lifted his hand to cup her cheek, and she was forced to meet his eyes. "We could meet your younger self," he proposed. "And tell her that everything is gonna be fine".

Regina shook her head. "No, **you don't understand** ," she said, "this is a time travel, and I've watched my fair dose of _Doctor Who_ with Henry to tell you that… **you should never know** what the future holds for you. We could cause a disaster," she explained.

"You could make her forget," he said, and she tilted her head, thinking.

"I suppose so… but anyway, we should figure out how to go –" she stopped talking, because she had seen something in the sky, something she hadn't seen in a long time.

"– home" she whispered. She turned, and ignored Robin's concerned "What is it?" to start walking. He followed her, and she took his hand, urging him to go faster.

"Regina, what have you seen?"

"Look," she pointed at the sky. A bright, green wave of dust was glowing above their heads, and a white figure was flying, shining like an angel.

Robin gasped and squeezed her hand, they had reached the edge of the forest – they could see houses, and a bell tower, and the dust lowering down in the middle of the little town.

"Was that…?" he asked, and Regina nodded, as they continued to walk quickly towards the dust.

They turned a corner, and there it was – the tavern, and Tinkerbell had just regained her human form, she was shaking her wings. Regina stopped Robin in his tracks, and they hide behind the wall of the nearest house. She dared to peek towards the tavern, and felt Robin do the same.

There she was, in her white nightgown, standing in front of the glass door – raven hair long on her shoulders, and she felt Robin chuckle against her hair. "You were beautiful," he whispered. She hushed him, smiling, and they continued to watch as Tinkerbell pointed him to the young queen… the man with the lion tattoo.

Regina watched the fairy talk with her younger self – she still remembered her words, _Go and get him_ , and she nearly laughed, because that was what she had done some days before… she had gone in the woods and kissed him, recklessly…

She placed a hand on Robin's arm, and young Regina was nodding to Tinkerbell. The fairy patted her forearm and turned on her heels, after one last encouraging smile.

Robin held her closer, as the queen opened the door, and then… Regina made a sudden movement, as if she wanted to go and talk to her younger self, but then she stopped.

"What is it?" whispered Robin, and she shook her head, the queen was standing in front of the open door, frozen for a moment, then she slammed the door, running away.

"Come," urged Regina, and she ran out of the corner, he followed her, because she was practically dragging him.

"What are you _doing_ ," he spat out, but she didn't answer, they had almost reached the queen.

"Stop," Regina said, in her best royal voice, and the white-dressed woman halted, her shoulders gulping. She turned, slowly, to face them.

Regina saw a glimmer of fear in her eyes – just a second, then the queen lifted her head and curved her hand, ready to fight.

"Is this a joke?" she asked sharply. "Rumple, I know it's you! What do you want?"

"I am not the Dark One," said Regina, approaching slowly. "I am yourself, we come from the future".

"How do I know that?" the rage in the queen's words was familiar and heart-breaking.

"Ask me something only you know"

Young Regina crossed her arms and tilted her head. "Fine," she said after a bit. "What was the first gift Daniel gave us?"

Regina smiled fondly at the memory and glanced at Robin. He was watching her younger self in disbelief – she squeezed his hand before answering. "A daisy," she said, and the queen stared at her, with a hard expression.

"Let's say I believe you," she conceded, and she took a step towards them. "How are you here? And who is he?"

"Long story," answered Regina, and she turned towards Robin. She motioned at his arm, "Show her," she encouraged him, and he rolled up his sleeve.

The queen's eyes widened as she stared at the tattoo. She threw a glance towards the tavern – but no one had exited, and she looked back at them. "What does it mean?" she asked, in a silent plea.

"It means that we'll find him someday, darling," answered Regina, and she was almost maternal when she neared the younger woman. She lifted a hand to her cheek. "We'll be happy, you just wait and see," she said, and the queen was crying now. Regina got closer and hugged her, and the young woman clung to her, silent sobs shaking her shoulders. She caressed the long, raven mane, and she rocked her gently until she calmed down. Young Regina sniffed, lifting her head form her shoulder, the ghost of a smile on her lips. She disentangled from the embrace, slowly, and turned towards Robin.

"Take care of her," she said, "well, of us," and he smiled back, nearing the two queens and pressing a kiss on her forehead. "That I'll do," he answered kindly.

The queen smiled at him and took Regina's hand. She met her eyes, hazel staring into hazel, and she shook her head. "I guess I should forget all of this, right?"

Regina nodded gravely. "I'm sorry," she said. "It will be worth it, I promise," she added, and the queen laughed. "Go on," she looked at them one last time. "You look so happy," she observed, and closed her eyes, a smile full of hope on her lips. Regina felt her heart so heavy, at the thought that she had to crush this girl's – well, her – hope, again. She felt Robin's reassuring touch on her hip and she waved her hand – it was a simple spell, she needed to make her forget a few minutes.

As the memories slowly disappeared, they started to back up, reaching quickly the wall. They hide again, as the young queen opened her eyes, the same expression as before their exchange – she turned on her heels to run away.

Regina placed her head on his chest, watching herself go, and Robin held her, until the white spot disappeared around a corner.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" he asked, and she lifted her head to look at him.

"For finding me," she said, "for not giving up, for staying"

He cupped her cheeks, staring in her eyes, "As long as you'll have me," he vowed.

She leaned in to kiss him, just on his lips, and she smiled. "Come on, let's go home," she said, taking his hand, and they turned their back from the tavern, together.


	2. arrows

_Written for the Satan Squad - and every single person who has read this has told me "Who gave you the right" so it's EXTRA ANGSTY, you have been warned_

* * *

 **Arrows (It's like a story of angst, can you hear me?)**

 _\- Set in 5x02 (The Price) - Camelot - The Ball_

"May I come in? It would be an honor to dance with the Savior"

He heard a voice from his left and looked at the man, who was now staring at Regina expectantly. She stopped, her wide smile slowly fading, and plastered another smile, you would say fake, more embarrassed, accepting his hand, looking at Robin once, with one apologetic look that said _Sorry_ , _I have to keep the farce up_ , and he bowed, letting them join the other couples. He stayed next to the column, watching the love of his life as she danced with the man. A little stab of jealousy, mixed with pride – he was so glad to see the people accepting her, because she had changed so much, she deserved it – and they twirled, and he could see he talked to her. The smile now gone, he caught a glimpse of a devilish grin on her lips – a grin he had seen a few times during the Missing Year, always addressed to Zelena. He wondered – what possibly was he saying to her? He watched them as they stopped – her arm stopping, lifted, then lowered quickly, and she was tilting her head, asking a question.

Then the man answered, and – something was wrong – she moved away, her face now scared, but the man lifted his arm, as a signal, and it was so fast, an instant, the trained eye of the outlaw, and he could see the archer from the balcony, the arrow leaving the bow,

time froze –

– and the arrow was piercing Regina's chest –

He ran, all the movements around him blurry, but somehow he could understand everything as he ran towards his love – David running towards the man, sword in hand, killing him with an harmonic move – Regina had fallen on the ground – Emma, lifting her hand, releasing a yellow wave of magic and killing the archer in the balcony – and he had reached Regina, finally,

he collapsed to the ground, next to her head, the arrow horrendously settled between her breasts – NO – he lifted her head, placed her head in his lap, – _he had watched her die two day before_ , in that alternate universe created by Isaac, NOT AGAIN, PLEASE – Henry was there, kneeling on the ground, a girl standing next to him – the blood flowing from her chest

"Robin," she coughed, and he lifted his head, yelled, "Emma!" – but she was already there, a white spot next to him, her hand above the murderous arrow –

magic –

nothing –

NO –

"Why isn't it working?" he screamed, Regina's eyes weaker and weaker, a sigh from Henry, the pink dress now red as wine –

"I don't know!" answered Emma, the guilt on her face –

"Robin," Regina tried again, and he answered, now, "I'm here, my love" she was trying to talk, "Henry" she muttered, and the boy got closer, "Henry, I'm – I'm sorry – I love you, Henry" then Snow was there, meeting her eyes, "Forgive me, Snow,"

"Emma, take care of our son,"

"Robin," and he was crying now, and blinking away the tears, and her voice, oh so weak, "Robin," she repeated, and he was lowering towards her, her cheeks wet from tears, and kissing her forehead, "Regina, no, please"

"Robin, I love you, I'm sorry" in a final breath, and he repeated her words, "I love you, don't leave me"

– holding his soulmate, her life raising up and vanishing, so pale,

Emma was crying, holding Henry, both over her body, as he kept sighing, kissing her lips, _please, come back to me_ , hoping in that blasted rainbow kiss, because she couldn't die like this,

she had survived so many things, _not like this_

they were supposed to die together, with grey hair and winkles, in their bed

"No, mom, wake up"

"Regina, please, come back, please,"

–

"Please, my love"

#

He woke up with a scream, breathing heavily, _Regina_ , his first thought, _she's dead_ , and he felt a small hand on his shoulder,

"Robin," oh, her voice, he turned towards her, messy hair and brown eyes, and her scent, "you're alive," he said, almost in disbelief, "you're okay"

"That dream again?" she asked, and brought up a hand to his cheek. "I'm here, don't worry"

He moved under the blankets to embrace her, breathing, relief like a wave, "I love you" he said, and she smiled, "Don't worry, my love," as he was finally pouring his tears, fear still shaking him, and she held him, lulling him, "I'm here, I'm here"

#

And he woke up, a primitive fear paralyzing his lungs, _Regina, Regina_ , he brought a temptative hand towards her side of the bed

– a cold mattress

NO

That nightmare, the night Regina had died in Camelot, and the second dream, where he woke up to find her alive, _another lie_ , and he cried, he cried himself to sleep, because she wasn't there anymore,

he was alone

no more second chances.


	3. to my heart I must be true

_Written for Sarah._

* * *

 **To my heart I must be true**

 _\- Set in the future_

Regina Mills never forgets an important date. Never. It's well-known. She knows that Emma secretly envies her ability to remember every damned appointment, birthday, anniversary, even if the Savior mocks her for that. She remembers _everything_. Henry's first tooth. Roland's first driving lesson. Snow's birthday.

Every now and then, when they all are at Granny's, in the morning, she comes up with "Do you know what day is today?" and there's a chorus of "What day?" and she smirks, and says "The first time you came to Storybrooke, Miss Swan, I was sure you wouldn't remember," or "The day we came back from the Underworld," or "The day Henry saved all of us from Isaac's book," and the list goes on. She knows every date, every single date, she has never forgotten one.

But right now she's standing here, mouth wide open, staring at Robin, and she's astonished, because she absolutely _can't remember_.

He's in front of her, holding a red and velvety rose, and behind him the kitchen is clean and shining, candles and roses on the table, lights are low. It's a special occasion. But _which one_?

"Oh… wow," she breathes, and he smiles, "Good evening, love," he says.

She can feel the guilt already digging in her soul. She wants to ask, "What's the occasion," but no, she can't. What if this is not a random surprise? What if she actually _did_ forget an important date?

Maybe their first kiss? No, that was in early spring, the air was chilly, she had a white scarf around her neck.

"Hey there," she says, leaning in to kiss him, and how can it be, that every kiss is like the first kiss?

Once they part, he has his hand lingering in her hair, and she's smiling, but her heart is racing. _Think, Regina, think_. Music is playing, a soft sound of violins, and her memory runs. Maybe their first ball in Camelot? But he knows she doesn't like to celebrate _that_ , he almost died that night, and Emma was the Dark One and David killed Percival…

She tilts her head, and he has a weird look on his face. "What is it?" he asks, and she bites the inside of her cheek, this man can read her like an open book. "Nothing," she forces a smile, but she knows she hasn't fooled him. She looks at the table, and there's red wine, and crystal glasses, maybe that evening in front of the fireplace, in her office? Their first date?

He's scrutinizing her face, and she lowers her gaze, knowing she can't hide. Maybe the first time they made love, in her vault? That day on the bench when he chose her? _What the hell happened today?_

"Regina," she hears him say, and she doesn't look up, "you know what we are celebrating, don't you?"

She bites her lip, then, and he's smiling when she meets his blue eyes. "No," she admits, heart sinking in her chest, shame coloring her cheeks of crimson.

"Let me remind you, then," he says, and she feels him take her hand, he brings it to his lips and kisses her knuckles, and she looks at him, and the diamond on her ring shines mockingly.

Their wedding day.

Fifteen years ago.

Her eyes widen, she holds her breath, and he still has his lips on her hand, gaze fixed on her, the ghost of a chuckle on his face, and she shakes her head in disbelief. She brings up the other hand to cover her mouth, "Oh my god," she mutters, and he's smiling, and she's ashamed.

"I'm sorry," she says, but he lifts her chin, and hazel meets blue, and he shakes his head, slowly, "Don't be," he says, serious. "It happens"

"But this is one of the most important dates of my life," she retorts, and he's shrugging. "I'm almost glad, I was starting to think you weren't human," he answers, but she can feel traitorous tears, and the first one rolls down.

"Love, stop it," he pleads, and moves his hand to her hair, nears his face and kisses her, as he kissed her that morning in the vault, slowly, and deeply, and she forgets all the dates she has in her mind, all gone, in that oblivious kiss, he pulls her closer, and the music swirls around them.

He slows down, he leaves her lips, looking at her again. "Better?" he asks, and she nods, a smile cracks open. "Happy anniversary, love," he tells her, and this time it's Regina who kisses him, the dinner forgotten, the candles burning, maybe, yes, this is her wedding, and she'll never forget again.


	4. something is better than nothing

_Without a particular reason... maybe to cope with pain..._

* * *

 **Something is better than nothing**

 _\- The Townline Goodbye from Will Scarlet's POV (4x11)_

He hugged his friend, heavy-hearted and trying to be strong. _It's not like he's dying, Will,_ he said to himself _. He's just going away. Forever_.

Still, he wouldn't see him anymore. He watched as Robin said goodbye to Little John, Alan and the rest of his Merry Men. Marian, pale and shivering, was clinching to her son.

A sudden sound of heels made him watch to his left – the queen was walking towards them, and she addressed to his friend with subjects of very little importance. Now, if he knew something about Robin, was that he was trying with all his soul not to cry. He was with him when Marian had died the first time, and he recognized the signs. The same Marian who was now held briefly by her husband – she whispered a _thank you_ to the queen and everyone watched as she crossed the town line, hair brown again, spine straightened.

Roland was in her arms, and she looked at them without seeing a thing. Fear in her eyes.

He saw the queen – Regina – urging Robin towards the line. She lowered her head, to lift it again when Robin captured her lips. The last kiss. Thoughts of Anastasia swirling in his mind, he diverted his gaze for a second – the moment was too intimate.

Robin whispered something, pressing his forehead against hers – he felt their absolute pain he knew too well, saying farewell to the woman you love.

They lowered their hands, desperate to cherish their last seconds – it was like a title from the _Titanic_ _Soundtrack_ he loved to listen during the curse: _Unable to Stay, Unwilling to Leave_ – and they kept the contact until they couldn't anymore – Robin was outside and she had her fingers lingering where his hand had been.

He watched as he walked away – she was still there, hands in her pockets, she pulled out a piece of paper and tore it off, the fragments falling slowly to the ground. And she was gone.

His friends began to move – John patted on his shoulder, and he muttered _I'm gonna stay a bit more_ , and John nodded – when he was alone, he approached to the remnants of the paper and carefully picked them up.

She would have insulted him, but after some time, she would have understood. Having something to remember your love is better than nothing. He placed them in his pocket, next to an old page from an old book – a page that depicted a beautiful red queen.


	5. at last

_Random drabble from a sleepless night_ **  
**

* * *

 **What a night, that night**

 _\- 4x07 - The Vault_

All she could feel.  
Soft, glimmering light from the brief, pointy ends of her mirror, a glimpse in her horizon, a detail.  
The cold, harsh stone pressing on her back.  
His hands, travelling marvellous paths on her skin.  
His smell, deep fragrance of pine and home.  
His tongue, dancing with hers.  
His soul, her other half.

All he could feel.  
Sparkles of light and red as he closed his eyes.  
Her perfume, rich and inebriating.  
Her hair between his fingers.  
The cold floor wounding his knees.  
Her tongue.  
Her soul. At last.


	6. what a night, that night

_Written for Laura, based on the prompt: **How about right after their first kiss?**_

* * *

 **What a night, that night**

 _\- 3.18, the woods_

She broke the kiss, breathing heavily, and looked at him. Her eyes widened in awe. Unspoken words were lingering between them, a triumphant echo in the night.

 _I found you_.

Needing fingers intertwined with hers, his other hand still in her hair, and he lifted the corner of his lips. "Well that was… unexpected, milady" he whispered. She bumped her forehead into his, feeling more powerful than in any other moment of her life, feeling bold and audacious, just _feeling_.

She cursed her sister for taking her heart. For muffling the explosion of love that she could have - should have - felt during her first kiss with her soulmate.

"I'm sorry" she said, the ghost of an ancient fear rising up in her chest. But he would have none of it, because he drew her closer to his body - "I'm not complaining," he assured. "I wanted to kiss you since our first meeting"

She closed her eyes and cursed fate, because he couldn't help but falling in love with her, and she was _damaged_ , and he didn't even flinch seeing her dark heart, but still, she doubted anyone could love her…

"Regina" he said, and her name was like a melody, rolling on his tongue…

"Yes" she breathed, eyes still closed.

"Stop thinking" and he kissed her again, and it was like an old tale long forgotten…

When he separated his lips from hers, she felt an immediate loss, and she moved closer. He embraced her - for a minute? for an hour? -

They talked, that night. About Henry - she cried a little, sitting on that log, and he listened to her, and craddled her in his arms - about Roland, and Snow, and the monkeys, and the Enchanted Forest…

And then they parted ways. She left his hand with a sigh, heading for her empty house.

"See you tomorrow, milady"


	7. clean

_Written for Alexia, based on the prompt: **Why are you half naked?**_

* * *

 **Clean**

 _\- During the Missing Year_

Regina appeared in her room in a purple swirl of smoke, cursing between her teeth. She was holding a hand pressed over her leather pants – a hand already soaked in blood. She uncovered the offended skin to inspect the wound. A deep, long cut started from her knee and went up to her thigh: the black fabric was split in two folds, hardened by the thick and red substance. She hissed, passing a hand above the wound, but nothing happened.

Her heart accelerated – why didn't it work? She tried again, but her palm stood silent and normal. When she tried to free her skin from the leather, she had to bit her lip to hold back a cry of pain. Finally, she managed to get rid of her pants, and she extended the leg on her bed, spilling blood on the blue silk.

A loud _bang!_ startled her, the door had been opened, and she lifted her gaze quickly, like an animal in a trap.

"Milady, I –" the thief said, but he stopped in the middle of the room, widening his eyes.

Regina looked back at him and lifted her chin. "Clearly, knocking is an unknown curtesy in the forest," she spat out, with all the venom she could gather.

"I apologize," he said, without any trace of remorse. " **Why are you half naked?** "

"What do you think?" she said with a grimace – the wound had started pulsing, and she stretched her arm towards the nightstand. She reached the water bowl, but almost dropped it. Robin got closer, and took it from her hands. "Let me," he said. He sat on the bed, and he lifted the sponge from the water, squeezed it, and placed it on her skin. She clenched her teeth, and he stopped.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, and she shook her head.

He looked at her intently, "Don't lie to me," he said, and he started to clean the wound carefully. She held her breath, biting her lip again, but Robin continued, and the skin regained its pinkish color. The cut was a clean, red line, and Regina felt his fingers ghost over the offended flesh.

"There," he said, replacing the sponge in the water. He opened her night table – and he suddenly had a pile of linen cloths in his hands. He started to unroll them, and Regina widened her eyes. "How did you know they were there?"

"Granny placed them in every night table in this castle," he answered, and she nodded, eyes fixed on her wound. He had started to wrap her thigh, from her knee to the other end of the wound, and there was only kindness in the way he worked.

"Thank you," she whispered, in a voice so low that she wasn't sure to actually have said it.

He chuckled, and shook his head. "Why didn't you heal this?" he asked, fixating the linen band with a loose knot.

"I can't," Regina explained, "apparently, that bitch has modified a spell… so that she can hurt me and I can't heal myself"

Robin nodded, he seemed almost saddened by that explanation. Then he smiled, "Well, I'd suggest to avoid leather pants for a few days, milady," he said, and despite the dull pain, Regina laughed. "Of that, I can take care of," she said, moving her hand, and one wave of smoke later, she was wearing a light blue, cotton dress, legs now covered, hair braided loosely on a shoulder.

He got up from the bed, and smiled at her, "I'll ask Granny to make you eat something, later," he told her, and Regina rolled her eyes, but smiled back.

He closed the door behind him, and she rubbed her leg absentmindedly, thinking that this was the first time she had made see her body to a man, without him trying to seduce her.

Or maybe, _his_ way to seduce her was way more dangerous. Because _that_ warmth she was feeling, was something she hadn't felt in a very long time.


	8. stolen kisses, pretty lies

_Written for Stiene, based from the prompt: **OQ + smut in public** , and from a pic that hit me_

* * *

 **Stolen kisses, pretty lies**

 _\- Alternate Universe_

Robin Locksley was proud to say that he was a man of honor. Honor was the main reason for him to enter in the Secret Services, honor was the main reason behind his failed marriage with a woman who couldn't understand that... when you swear to protect your country, your country is the first thing you should think about. Before family, before anything else. You were given a task, and you should stay loyal to your task.

But Robin had discovered that honor was a thin wall of paper, compared to the roaring fire that was Regina Mills.

He still remembered their first meeting.

He was terribly late, that morning. When he had arrived at the base, showing his badge to a bored guard, he had almost dropped his coffee, because Emma Swan was walking towards him with a deep frown which didn't mean good news. At all.

"You're late, Locksley," she said, stopping in her tracks, arms crossed.

"Good morning to you," he answered, tempting a smile. But she was angry, more like pissed off, actually, so he replaced his half-smile with a concerned face. "What's wrong?"

"Leopold fucking Blanchard just phoned me," she said, and no, that couldn't be good. Their supreme boss didn't call for random things.

"And?"

"And," she spat out, "and he put _us_ in charge of that freaking psycho-killer!"

Robin just looked at her, waiting for an explanation. Emma huffed loudly, annoyed. "He said that our team has been selected to take care of Regina Mills, does it sound familiar?"

His jaw dropped open. It was like the fiasco with Gold, all over again. Their team selected, a psychotic murder to be guarded, and in the end, they had to kill him. _Too dangerous to be left alive_ , had said Emma to the press.

"I thought that Jones' team had been chosen for this!"

"Well, yes, but he gladly passed us the job, because, and I quote, _you are capable of taking care of that bitch, Swan_ ," Emma said, in an exaggerated imitation of Jones' Irish accent.

"He's afraid to fail," Robin said.

"You bet," Emma threw him an angry glare, as if this was all his fault. "So, we're going to the airport, we're throwing that crazy woman in the car and then we're bringing her to her house, where she'll be guarded 24/7, okay? And let's not screw this too, or I swear I'll kill Jones, then I'll go to Hell to resurrect him, and kill him again!"

* * *

And so after half an hour he was at the airport with Emma and Mulan, their gun on display, and Regina Mills was there, and she was absolutely beautiful.

Of course he had seen pictures of her – she was on all the newspapers – but nothing could have prepared him to that sight.

Surrounded by agents, she was sitting on a bench, legs crossed, and the length of her skirt was a sin itself. At first, he noticed the house arrest bracelet they had put on her ankle – another precaution, he supposed – but his gaze couldn't help to roam from her impossibly high heels, to her toned legs, from her black skirt that showed a generous amount of her skin, to her fur coat. Her hair was slightly curly, and when she raised her eyes to meet his, she lifted the corner of her lips. The glare she threw him was of pure lust.

Now, he knew what they meant. She was truly evil. Maybe crazy. But there was something… something he couldn't quite place. She licked her lips, painted of red, and god, he found very difficult to focus.

Emma was walking faster than him, and she reached the woman first.

"Morning," she said coldly. Regina didn't answer, but lifted an eyebrow. She shifted her gaze towards Robin and Mulan.

"Well hello, there," she said, and her deep voice sent shivers down to his spine. "My guardian angels," she mocked them.

"I'm Emma Swan, this is Robin Locksley, and Mulan Fa," she introduced them. "We are your guardians, yes, but certainly not angels,"

"Oh, that's a shame," beamed Regina, and she slowly got up from the bench. She approached to Robin, fixating her gaze on him, and she released the first button of her coat, and he couldn't avoid throwing a look to her cleavage. She was closer now, and he could sense her perfume – a mix of Chanel N° 5 and… coconut? Cinnamon?

"There's nothing better than angels… to watch over a _devil_ ," she whispered, and she lifted a hand to his chin. He didn't move, didn't flinch, but her fingers released a strange electricity when they touched his skin. "Isn't that true, handsome?"

"Yeah, sure," Emma shook her head, and he blinked, what on hell was she doing to him? A spell?

Regina left his eyes to look at the blonde. "So, Miss Swan," she said slowly, making the name roll on her tongue. "Where are we going in this sunny day?"

"To your house," answered Emma sharply. "Come on," she urged, throwing a look to Mulan, and the woman grabbed gently Regina's arm. She rolled her eyes, her smile gone. "All business, huh? And I was hoping to have some fun," she said in Robin's direction.

He looked at her walking away with Mulan and the other agents – she turned her head to throw him a look over her shoulder, and he was still lost in his thoughts when Emma smacked his arm.

"What is wrong with you?" snorted the blonde. "Are you going to let her do that?"

"Do what?" he said, dumbfounded.

"I don't know!" exclaimed Emma. "That woman is dangerous, Robin," she said. "Don't you know what she did?"

"Find me a person on this Earth who doesn't know," he answered. It was hard not to know of the horrible murders that woman was responsible of. All in secret, all well-paid by hidden companies, until one of their secret agents had managed to catch her.

"She's a monster, Robin, and there's plenty of blood on her hands," said Emma.

"I know what my duty is, Emma, thank you," he answered sharply. He wanted to clean his head from the thought of Regina. What if Emma was right? What if he couldn't stay in a house with that woman without letting her… enchant him, with her stunning beauty and dangerous looks and witty sense of humor?

"I hope so," said Emma, and she looked at him one last time before heading outside.

 _I can do this_ , Robin thought, following her. _I can resist_.

But he couldn't.

Honor be damned.

It only took a sleepless night, when he was in her kitchen, nursing a tea, and she had joined him, her red camisole showing the curve of her breasts, and he had finally kissed her, and she had gladly exchanged his kiss.

And now, after two months, they were currently kissing in a bathroom, in the middle of the base, her words were still ringing in his ears.

"I have to go to the toilet," she had said, with a bored voice, interrupting Emma. The whole meeting was boring. _Really_ boring. Three terroristic attacks, and they had called the best team of experts to try and get them. Including Regina. Good behavior of the prisoner, they had said. As a matter of fact, Regina was a spy. A killer, but a good spy nonetheless. Sure, she was restrained by a cuff – and had that annoying bracelet at her ankle – but she had thrown them some helpful solutions, anyway.

So Emma had stopped talking, and shot her a deadly glare. "Fine," she had huffed. "Locksley, would you please accompany her and make sure she behaves?"

Robin had nodded, and leaned on to free her from the cuff – she had brushed her fingers against his hand, but he managed to keep a poker face, and took her arm. "Come on," he had said, and she had huffed, getting up, and followed him outside.

As soon as they entered the bathroom, she had kissed him, and he could hardly breathe, "I think Emma said you should behave," he had whispered when they had parted, and she had smiled, "I can't behave," she had neared her lips to his neck, close to his ear, pressing her body against his. "Darling, I'm a nightmare," she had said, and he had brought a hand to her hair, pressed his mouth against her shoulder, "dressed like a daydream," he had chuckled. She had huffed, smiling, then taken his hand – they entered in one of the toilets, slamming the door behind them.

"How many minutes before they come after us?" she whispered, he had his hand between her thighs already.

"I don't know," he muttered, kissing her neck, "five, six minutes?"

"Good thing… that… I'm already wet," she said, and grabbed his hand, making it slide on the length of her pants, guiding him until he found her entrance.

"Christ, you weren't kidding," he said in a low voice. She was slippery, and he started rubbing lazily, she moaned against his skin. "Oh, fuck," she said, arching her back at his touch. She bit her lip, his other hand coming up under her shirt, insinuating under her bra – he pinched her nipple, and she let out a frustrated groan, "We don't have _time_ for games," she muttered, moving her hand down.

He gasped when she unzipped him, "Oh, love," he said, "what have you done to me," he pressed his finger deep inside her, and she had to hold back a cry, "Just fuck me already," she spat out angrily, he was taking it too slowly for her taste. She pushed his trousers apart, and stroked her finger over his erection. He let out a low sound, and Regina captured his lips again. Her skirt was folded up, and she lifted a leg, leaving him free access, and finally, he entered her, and she pushed her body against his. Robin broke the kiss and placed his lips against her neck, sucking her skin. He could feel her hair cascading down his shoulder, and he gave two deep thrust, gaining a sound of pure pleasure and satisfaction. "Fuck, I'm so close, hurry up –" she hissed, and he placed a hand on her arse, "They'll _find_ us," she said, and it took only those words to make him come, and doing so, he pushed her against the wall, her leg still lifted, and she came too, panting heavily. They slowed down – he stayed inside for a few moments, before leaving that heavenly place. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he could feel her chuckle – he tilted his head to kiss her hair.

Regina lowered her hands to fix her skirt – and while he was taking care of his trousers, she rubbed her neck, where he had sucked her skin. "You'll leave a mark here, you moron," she accused, and he lifted his gaze from his zip, smiling. "Let them see," he answered. He locked his eyes with hers, and he passed a hand between her hair. "Are you afraid?"

She had a bright, hard expression. "Never," she answered, and unlocked the door. They exited, and she ruffled her hair, looking at the mirror. "I love your after-sex hair style," he smiled, and she rolled her eyes. Passing her fingers between dark locks, she regained an almost normal appearance. She washed her hands, and cleaned them on a hand towel.

"Come on, let's go," she said, motioning towards the door, but he couldn't help pressing a quick, last kiss on her lips before exiting.

And maybe, when they entered the room again, _maybe_ Emma's gaze was a bit suspicious, but watching as Regina winked at him, Robin couldn't care less.


	9. and live through your love

_This was something I needed to write for myself. I don't know if the rumors are true, but I needed to pour this out.  
\- After his death. Written after 5.14. Regina's POV.  
_

* * *

 **And live through your love  
**

 _Weep not, child,  
Weep not, my darling,  
With these kisses  
Let me remove your tears._

(Walt Whitman)

.

I have yet to shed a tear.

From the moment the light left his eyes, and I was on the ground, clinging to his body, screaming Don't leave me, don't you dare, I have yet to shed a tear.

I remember myself shaking him, pressing kisses on his lips, _Please, please, make it work_ , but it was like with Daniel, it doesn't work for me.

It works for the Charmings, for Rumple and Belle, for Aurora and Phillip – for Anastasia and Will, Belle has told me once, – for Emma and Killian, but it doesn't work for me.

For those who dared to love me.

I remember David pulling me up, and I was sobbing, punching his chest, Regina, he's gone, but I wasn't crying.

I remember screaming to the sky, _Why, why always me – why always the men I love_ , but I am sure, I haven't spilled a tear.

Maybe I have fainted. The black oblivion was better than my reality.

I woke up in my bed. I bet David put me there. I woke up with a silken camisole. I bet Snow dressed me.

I am a walking corpse. I am awake, I respond to the questions: I nod or I shake my head.

 _It can't be_. _Not again_.

I am a zombie. I don't care about anything.

There's always someone with me, always. Usually, it's Snow, or Mal. Sometimes Emma, or Henry. They are worried. The Regina they know would have set the world on fire, to have her love back. Damn it, I've tried to resuscitate Daniel, when I was young. I've begged the Dark One to save Robin, in Camelot, and Regina Mills doesn't beg.

I know they are worried. Because I'm not doing anything, _at all_.

I have lost hope.

Oh, I know, I am the most resilient of them all. But sometimes, it's too much. There's a certain amount of pain a heart can tolerate.

I have left my heart in my chest. I have left it there, because I deserve this pain.

It's all my fault.

All magic comes with a price, dearie.

Emma saved Robin, dark magic has a price, and here comes the fury. The fury attacks, we defeat it. But there are consequences. And now he's dead, and it's my fault.

He's dead because Percival stabbed him, he stabbed him, but he wanted to kill me. He wanted to kill the Evil Queen.

" _Why did you do that?" I ask him, we are lying on our bed in Camelot, my pink dress is forgotten on the ground. "Well, I couldn't let you go," he answers, like it is obvious, and I shake my head and kiss him, he's okay, thanks to the gods, thanks to Emma. He's okay._

The funeral is two days later.

I woke up screaming at five in the morning, Mal is sitting on the rocking chair, next to the bed. She doesn't say a word, she just gets up and sits on the bed, she embraces me. I'm sobbing, but I'm not crying. She caresses my hair, and at some point, I stop.

She makes me get up, without a word.

Oh, I have yet to spill a tear, and I have yet to say a word. From the moment I woke up, after fainting. When I woke up, I have extended an arm towards his side of the bed, and reality has fallen upon me. My lips are closed.

She brings me to the bathroom, makes me sit on the toilet bowl, she makes the water run in the bathtub. She undresses me, but without any trace of lust or need. Just kindness. I sit in the water, and it's too hot, but I don't care. I'll burn. She washes my hair, and she's startled when I make a movement. I point at one of the bottles. I don't speak.

She was about to take his shampoo, but I point her mine. I can't use his. She pours the liquid on my hair, and the lavender smell fills the air, she starts to rub gently.

The water runs on my skin, but I feel dirty.

Roland has lost his parents because of me. Because of the Evil Queen.

The innocent, nameless baby girl has lost her parents because of me. Her father is dead. And her mother is gone.

" _Last time, I didn't believe in myself, but now I do," I tell Zelena with a smug grin. Oh, how I've fooled myself. The wand needs dark magic to work. When I've tried to use it, to find Emma, it didn't work, because finding Emma was the right thing to do, was light. But when I've used it to banish Zelena, it worked. My dark heart did all the job. Separating a mother from her child, was something the Evil Queen was used to do._

Mal is washing my back, and I just rest my chin on my knees. I wait.

She helps me get up on my feet, I feel the chilly air on my bare skin. The bathrobe is warm and soft, but I don't care, I don't want comfort.

This kind of grief is different. When Daniel died, I let my rage consume me. I've become my rage. I've addressed it to Snow, it was all I could think about, because thinking about something that wasn't my revenge was too painful. I've focused on that. When I've lost Henry, during the Missing Year, I've focused on taking down my sister.

 _Something to live for._

My words from that evening in my vault, when he helped me breaking in, ring in my head. Yes, I have something to live for. I have a family, I have Henry. But I haven't someone to live _with_ anymore. That is why I've let myself react in this way. I know I can. This time, there is someone who is taking care of me. I can let myself become a walking corpse. I have someone to support me. But someone to fill my soul and my body, I'll never have again. Not like that.

Mal is brushing my hair, drying it. I couldn't care less about the way she's combing my locks, about the way she's applying the concealer under my eyes, trying to cover the deep, blue signs of the sleep deprivation. I look into the mirror, I see myself, but I feel like I'm fluctuating outside of my body.

" _It happens," Belle's voice, gentle, comes to my ears, I'm sitting on the couch, staring at the floor, I'm not talking. "I've made some researches," she explains to Snow. Everyone is concerned, why I've stopped talking. "It happens, when a soulmate dies. It's like half of her soul… is gone," she says, and yes, that would explain the void I feel inside of my chest._

Mal brings me back to my room, she opens the closet. She turns towards me – I'm just standing in the middle of the carpet, not a movement, not a word. I don't care about my dress, or my shoes.

She has finally chosen a black dress. I just put my arms up, and the dress slides easily, I'm thinner now. I had started to gain some weight in Camelot, but I've lost it all.

I've lost all I had.

The full-length mirror reflects a beautiful woman, with raven hair –long and loosely curled –bare lips, thick eyelashes. The elegant, black dress hugs her body. Mal passes me a pair of heels – I don't protest, I just slip on them, and now I'm taller. _It was the right height to kiss him_.

She brings me downstairs, and Snow is already there. The bath was long, it's seven in the morning. Snow is making breakfast. Mal makes me sit on a chair, and I have a plate in front of me – sliced apples, two eggs, toasted bread. A glass of juice.

I just stare at it. I can't eat. I'm not even hungry.

There are things I should ask, where are the children, who told Roland about his father, how is my niece. There's a tiny part of me that cares. But I can't speak.

Mal is eating, she's talking with Snow. I listen, but it's like I'm watching from a distance. There's a one-way mirror between us.

"Is she better?" asks Snow, and Mal shakes her head, she gulps down her bite. "She hasn't spoken yet," she says.

I hear Snow sighing; I fix my eyes on my glass. My throat hurts, but I don't drink. After an undetermined period of time, they take my untouched plate, they make me get up, put my coat on.

The air is cold, outside. It's about to rain. We walk towards a car, I don't know whose car, I climb inside. David is driving, he greets me, I don't answer. The car ride is short. We are at the cemetery in minutes, and I walk on the stone tiles, I walk past my vault.

" _My mind was in the forest, but my heart took me here_ "

" _Today is not one of those days_ "

" _The best… sleep… I've had in a very long time_ "

" _If we don't leave this room, I think it still counts as the first time, don't you?_ "

Half of the city is gathered under the highest oak.

I could have worn sunglasses, to hide my red eyes, to hide myself, but no, let them see. Let them see how the mighty has fallen.

Henry is there, with Roland, Emma has my niece in her arms. She meets my gaze, and she's the first to divert it. Killian is standing next to her, and I look at them. The unfairness of seeing them together might crush me. I move my eyes to Henry, he has a sad smile on his lips, I join him.

"Hi, mom," he whispers, and I just squeeze his arm.

"Gina," a pleading voice comes from below, and I lower my eyes. It's Roland, my sweet, little Roland, eyes shining with tears, and I scoop him in my arms. Someone must have explained him why I don't talk.

Finally, I look at the grave. The hole.

Archie is talking, I don't even hear his words, I focus on Roland's weight on my hip.

My eyes lift and wander around – I don't want to watch the coffin, or the tombstone. I see his Merry Men, John's eyes are puffy. There are the dwarves, and Granny, and Ruby – when has she come back? – and Rumple, next to Belle. Mal and Lily. Queen Guinevere, dressed with a borrowed skirt and not the purple medieval dress. Her husband is in jail, she's free from the spell. The girl Henry likes, that I have yet to meet. Merida, she has too a new black dress.

Why do I care?

The air smells like him. I could cry. I won't.

There's silence now, I haven't listened to a word. Maybe they expect me to say something. I won't.

I put Roland on the ground again.

They lower the coffin, and I can't think about his body. I should focus on other things. I start calculating all the days we spent together.

The missing year, but we weren't together. _Not like this_. The afternoon at the barn. The evening when I gave him my heart. The night of our first kiss. The morning of the day Henry remembered. The day Neal was born and I defeated my sister. The lunch in front of the fireplace, drinking wine. The night in my vault. The night at the library. _Six weeks alone_. The walk in the moonlight. The ball. Six weeks in Camelot. Some weeks in Storybrooke. Some days in the Underworld. Stop.

So much for a happy ending.

Henry hands me the shovel, I approach to the hole. The dust falls on the clean wood. I pass the shovel to Snow, in silence.

I'm waiting for this to be over.

The ritual is about to end. They are going away, after one last look at the grave. There's only my family left, watching from a distance. I don't move. I know they're starting to leave.

Roland comes next to the grave, he presses a kiss on his fingers, he presses his fingers on the stone. "Goodbye," he whispers.

Henry takes his hand, he rubs my shoulder, I don't look at him, but I hear his words. They are going. I need a moment alone.

Then, I hear an unexpected voice.

"Regina," a thick Scottish accent, and I turn slightly my head. Merida approaches, she has her fist closed. "I… wanted to give you this," she opens her palm, and my heart skips a beat. I recognize that tiny bottle. The magical ale from DunBroch.

 _I can talk to him_.

I meet her eyes, and somehow I know: she has lost someone too. I nod, and she smiles. I close my hand above hers, I take the bottle. I'm watching the stone again, I hear her leaving.

I am alone.

My finger are shaking as I pull the cap, I overturn the bottle and the ale spills free. I close my eyes. _If it doesn't work. If it doesn't work_. I hope with every fiber of my being.

I wait.

"Regina".

Oh, his voice. I keep my eyes closed. His voice is enough.

I feel a pressure on my shoulder. I open my eyes – he's here.

He's really here.

A sob escapes me. " _Robin_ ," I whisper, and it hurts, I haven't used my voice in days. I clear my throat, "Robin," I repeat, and finally, _finally_ , the tears are falling. He pulls me against his body, and we crash our bodies together, I clench his jacket with my fists, my head on his shoulder. I take a breath, I take in his smell. I want this, all of this, I want to remember his voice, his scent, the way he's holding me.

His fingers are between my hair, as always, and he's kissing my neck, he's whispering, _It's all right, don't worry._

I pull back, holding him with my arms, I hate that he has to see me like this.

I have so much to say, so little time.

I start from the most pressing subject.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, and he shakes his head, "because this is all my fault," and he presses a kiss on my lips to shush me.

"Regina, it's not your fault, okay?" I shake my head too, and he lifts my chin, I meet his eyes. "Never, never think this was your fault again, did you understand me?" I can only nod, and he smiles.

"Where are you?" I ask him, and my heart is racing, is he in the Underworld? Is he in Hell?

He smiles, he holds a hand on my cheek. "I am in a good place," he tells me, and I let out a relieved hiccup, tears are falling again. I'm not able to speak, I nod, I want to memorize his face, I don't want to lose a single moment.

"There's your father here," he says, and I'm nodding, I know, "and Marian," and I'm smiling openly.

"I'm happy you are with her," I tell him, and I'm honest, I'm happy.

"I know," he says gently. "I've met Daniel," he strokes a thumb on my cheek, captures a tear. I drown in his eyes, I want to remember this blue forever. "And?"

"And we are worried about you," he whispers. "I was able to move on because I knew I had saved you," he explains, "but you have to promise me one thing, before I go"

I know what is coming next, I don't want to hear it.

"Don't say it," I beg him, and he shakes his head.

"We don't have much time, so don't be stubborn and listen," I don't answer, he makes me meet his eyes.

"Promise me you'll live a wonderful life, Regina," he says. "Promise me you won't let go"

"I… I can't, I can't promise," I sob, and he nods.

"You can. Promise me"

My shoulders are shaking as I nod, "Okay," I whisper, and he pulls me closer, he presses a kiss on my forehead.

I feel our time is ending. I have to tell him. I have to tell him _now_.

"I love you".

It goes out like that, and I feel this heat in my heart, _at least I got a chance to tell him_ , and he laughs, "I love you, too," he tells me, and we are laughing and crying at the same time, we are clinging to each other.

He has to sense it too, because he places his hands between my hair, he kisses me – and it's worse than his kiss at the town line, because this is the last, _the last_ , and I don't want it to end. I don't want to say goodbye.

When we part, oh, I already miss his lips, he's starting to fade.

"No, stay," I say, but it's happening.

He looks at me, _with love in his eyes_.

"I'll wait for you. Always," he says, and I drown into his eyes, _one last time_.

"I love you," I say again, and he's gone.

"Goodbye," I say, but there's no one to hear my words.

 _Goodbye, my love. May we meet, one day_.

I stay next to the grave, I don't know for how long. When I finally walk away, the sun is shining between the clouds.


	10. visions are seldom all they seem

_Inspired from a pic, written after 5.14.  
_

* * *

 **Visions are seldom all they seem**

 _\- Regina takes a nap in the Underworld._

Robin had gotten used to Regina's nightmares. During all the year together in the Enchanted Forest, her screams in the middle of the night were a recurring motive. Even if, when he dared to enter her rooms, she would usually command him to get the hell out, thief, because she was fine. And when they had started living together, during the six weeks in Camelot and after their return, he had noticed that his presence seemed to help. Being held was soothing for his love, her breaths were slower, and he couldn't feel more honored to be the one who got to embrace her at night.

But in the Underworld, it was an entirely different story.

That place was all wrong.

The sun was pale, as if it was covered by a veil. He couldn't understand why, until after a few hours. That… reddish light, was eternal. There was no night, no day, just an eternal middle.

He was in the loft with David and Henry – cleaning, Gold had said – and they had managed to remove some rubble from the floor, freeing the couch and the beds upstairs. Henry had climbed the stairs to his old room, and David too. If they had to wait for Emma and Hook, they could get some rest in the meantime.

He had sat on the couch, but without lying down. He was waiting.

The door opened, and Snow entered, Regina after her. A relieved breath escaped him – he knew she had only gone outside to find a grave, but anyway, he didn't like to split up in that place.

"Where's David? Is Emma back?" asked Snow, and he shook his head, motioning towards upstairs. Snow nodded, and she climbed the stairs too.

Regina came to sit next to him – he passed an arm behind her shoulders.

"So? Did you find him?"

She was silent, but nodded.

"And?"

"And he's in the better place," she said. He tilted his head, and looked at her.

"It's a good thing, isn't it?" he said, and she nodded again.

"Then what's the matter?"

She bit her lower lip, a pensive frown he couldn't decipher. "I guess… I would have liked… to talk with him," she admitted.

He sighed then, it was perfectly understandable. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry"

"But I'm happy for him," she added, smiling. He leaned on and kissed her temple, rubbing her shoulder. "Why don't you lay down for a bit?" he proposed.

Regina nodded, and she kissed his cheek, then shifted on the couch to place her head on his lap. He smiled, as she closed her eyes, and feeling her breaths slow down. He thought of how many times he had watched her fall asleep in Camelot. She looked so much younger… he wondered if she was dreaming.

 _The silvery laughter of a child resounded in the field – the sky was bright, and the sun warm on her skin, as Regina slowed down her horse. She slipped to the ground when Rocinante stopped, her long braid bouncing on her back._

" _Mama!" the high-pitched cry came from behind her, and she turned, opening her arms – her son flew into her embrace, and she hugged him, and closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of honey and lavender from his hair._

" _Hello there, little Henry," she laughed, and he pulled back with a wide smile – she tapped his nose playfully. The golden spikes of the field were waving in the wind, and she felt strong arms circle her waist – she turned her head to kiss her husband, and he pulled her closer, Henry still settled on her hip._

" _How was the ride, Mrs Colter?" Daniel asked, and she laughed. She moved closer to kiss his smile, holding her son, and everything was perfectly fine, that day in the field._

Something wasn't quite right with Regina, he could tell. Her breath had changed its rhythm, and he lowered his gaze to look at her – a tear was rolling down her cheek, and she let out a hiccup. Her hand moved in a sudden spasm of…fear?

He recognized all the signs. Apparently, the Underworld wasn't a right place to find peace in her sleep. He squeezed gently her shoulder, and she opened her eyes with a gasp.

She blinked once or twice, and she turned towards him.

"R-Robin?"

"Sorry," he said, "I thought you were having a nightmare"

She sobbed, then, and shook her head. She placed a hand on his leg and pushed to get up from her position – her feet on the ground again, and she motioned closer, to snuggle against his chest.

"It was a good dream," she said, wiping away a tear.

"Then why were you crying?"

"Because I didn't want it to finish," she whispered, and he brought her closer to place his lips on her hair.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, and she squeezed his hand.

"Don't be, don't worry," she told him. "I'll be okay," she said, and for some reason, he believed her. He kept holding her, until they heard Henry jumping down the stairs.

"So, shall we start planning Operation Firebird, Madam Savior?" he said, and Regina laughed, and he thanked the gods for Henry and for letting him be at her side in that blasted mission.


	11. and if I never knew you

_Written for Alexia, based on a Disney prompt._

* * *

 **If I never knew you  
**

 _\- Set in 5.05, after the porch conversation with the Dark Swan._

Robin descended the stairs, and found his love sitting on the couch, covered by a blanket, chin resting on her knees – she was surrounding her legs with her arms, apparently busy in a deep meditation. Her eyes lifted up when he entered the living room.

"So?"

Robin sighed and walked towards the sofa, sitting behind her – she went to cuddle against his chest, and he waited a moment before answering.

"So, Roland is asleep," he said. "And Henry has put up a brave face, and told me he is fine," he rubbed her shoulder, and she leaned more on him. "I told him I'm used to the Mills family telling me they're okay when it's obviously not true," he chuckled, and he felt her shoulders shaking a bit, trying to hold back a laugh.

"So I've asked him of his date, instead of talking about Emma," he continued, and Regina nodded. She turned her face towards him, and he saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes. He looked at her, puzzled, and she probably read his inquisitive gaze, because she brought up a hand and rubbed her right temple, but he didn't miss the quick move her finger did to wipe away the tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and she shook her head.

Robin shifted a bit, and lifted her easily to make her sit on his lap – she smiled, but only for a second. "Again, another member of the Mills family who lies to me," he said softly.

Regina leaned her forehead against his temple. "I was thinking," she whispered. "I've told Emma I was starting to see the good in her… I was thinking about the Dark One, the manipulations, the darkness," she told him slowly. "About my mother, about what she did, and about how… Daniel died".

He nodded, without interrupting her. She didn't move, and he felt her hair tickling his neck. "And about _you_ almost died a few days ago," she finally said, and he started to shake his head, but didn't say anything. Regina lowered her head, and placed it on the crook of his neck. "And yet you continue to stay with me," she muttered. "Even if knowing me only brought you pain, with my sister, and the baby, and the Fury… Maybe… it would have been better if we never met, none of this would have happened to you," she said, and a few tears escaped her eyes to splash on his shoulder. Robin brought up a hand to her back, and rubbed it for a moment, and then placed it between her hair.

"Regina, look at me. Look at me," he repeated, and she lifted her head to meet his eyes. " **I'd rather die tomorrow** ," he told her firmly, " **than live a hundred years without knowing you** ".

She smiled weakly, but shook her head. "And that's exactly the problem," she murmured. "One day, something will happen, and you'll leave me, maybe for good," she said. Her eyes were fixated on his, and he couldn't bring himself to smile or laugh, not when this problem seemed to eat on her. He hated it, hated that she had no faith in his enduring presence at her side, and instead she had added worrisome thoughts about him to her problems, currently represented by Emma, Henry, Zelena and basically the entire weight and safety of Storybrooke on her shoulders…

He pulled her closer, and embraced her – she relaxed, only a little, and he whispered in her ear. "No matter what happens to me, I'll always be with you, okay? Remember that, please," he felt her nod, but he hadn't finished yet. "If I never knew you, Regina Mills, my life would have been simpler, it's true," he continued. "But being with you, compensates everything life throws at me. Do you remember what I said to you… when we met the second time for the first time?"

She looked at him, but didn't lift her head. "That you wanted to have a drink?" she chuckled.

"I said, _you got yourself a partner_ ," he answered, and she smiled then. "And that's a promise I intend to keep"

She closed her eyes, and he leaned on to kiss her temple. "Now that we've settled this problem, shall we go and figure out how to use that mushroom?"


	12. voulez vous?

_From the prompt: **OQ + Don't be an ass** (AU)  
_

* * *

 **Voulez vous?**

 _Knock, knock, knock_.

Regina got up from the couch, placing her mug on the coffee table. She walked towards the door and opened it – and well, that was unexpected.

"Can I help you?"

The man, her neighbor, threw a look beyond her shoulder – she lifted an eyebrow, as he scanned the room, without even bothering to be subtle.

"So it's true," he stated, and she frowned in confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

He looked at her, a strange expression on his face. "You _are_ alone at Christmas," he said as a matter of fact.

Regina crossed her arms, and sent him a deadly glare. "First, I don't even know your name," she spat out. "Second, I don't see how this is your business. And third, why do you even care?"

The man didn't even flinch at her anger, but smiled. "Right. We haven't introduced yet," he said. "I'm Robin, I live right in front of your door since one month"

She pulled out a hand towards him, and he shook it firmly. "I'm Regina," she said, in a hard tone. He chuckled, and she felt she was getting angrier and angrier.

"So, Regina," he smiled. "Why are you alone?"

"Again, why do you care?"

He titled his head, and made that strange look. "Because nobody should be alone at Christmas," he said simply.

"Well, I am," she replied coldly. "And if you came here to make fun of me or, worse, to _pity_ me, you can easily return from where you came from!"

His eyes flickered towards the ceiling. "I didn't pity you," he said, exasperated. "I was just wondering…"

"You can wonder from your home, don't you think?"

He took a step towards her, but she didn't move. "Why are you so angry?"

Regina took a breath, and clenched her fist. "As you said, nobody should be alone today," she said slowly, trying not to yell at him. "Just so you know, I wasn't going to be – I was going to have my best friend, my sister, my godson, my dad, but thanks to that goddamned snow storm, they didn't make it here! And _yes_ , if your purpose was to make me feel bad, because you think I am a bitter, lonely woman, congratulations! You did it!" she was on the edge of tears at this point, and he had opened his mouth to say something, but she didn't let him.

"And now, please, **don't be an ass** – or better, stop being an ass, and go back there, enjoy your party, and leave me alone!"

She neared the door to slam it on his face, but he quickly stopped it – an inch from his nose. "Regina, no," he said, and he slowly reopened it. She crossed her arms again, and sniffed – she couldn't let a single tear fall, she was stronger than that.

"I wasn't here to make fun of you," he said calmly. "I was here to _invite_ you".

Oh.

Regina looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

"My son saw you this morning, and he told me that you were alone," he explained. "He told me, _Daddy, do you think that pretty lady has someone with her today?_ " he smiled then, and she had to hold back a laugh, despite her still strong wish to cry.

"How old is he?"

"Five," answered Robin, and she smiled. "My godson is six" she told him. Then she bit her lip, and looked at him again, and finally nodded.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay what?"

"I'll come," she rolled her eyes, but didn't miss his triumphant smirk. "But only to thank your son," she added, and he laughed. He extended an arm and motioned towards his apartment. "After you," he said, and she turned to close her door, then preceded him.

She crossed the small corridor and pushed lightly the door – took a step inside, and felt his presence right behind her. "Welcome," he said kindly, and she looked around – a little boy was already speeding down from his chair to join them.

"You brought her, daddy!" he said gleefully, and she smiled at him. The boy was already clinging to his father's legs – and he left them, to hug hers. She stumbled a bit, surprised by that unexpected display of affection, but placed a hand on his curls. "Hello, there," she said sweetly.

"Roland, don't scare Regina – you could introduce her to our friends, instead,"

Roland left her legs and took her hand, without leaving her any chance to protest. She followed him, smiling, and she lifted her eyes towards the table.

"This is Uncle Will," he pointed, and a one man lifted his chin to greet her, his mouth full. He swallowed, and nearly choked himself. "And that is Auntie Ana," Roland continued, indicating a blonde woman who had started to pat Will's back. She smiled at Regina, "Hi," she greeted her, then turned towards the man, "now, if you die choking on the pie, darling, you'll miss the eggnog"

"That is Uncle John, Uncle Tuck, and Alice, and Cyrus," Roland listed. They all smiled at her, and Alice pulled out a chair for her – she met Robin's eyes, and he was smiling more than everyone.

He passed behind her to sit, and took the chair between her and Ana. Roland was tugging her sleeve to show her his gifts – but before turning towards the boy, she placed a hand on his arm and squeezed slightly.

"Thank you," she whispered.


	13. what are we?

_Random ficlet. (3.21)_

* * *

 **What are we?**

Love comes slow. It took one year, one year of arrows, monkeys, long conversations under her apple tree. One year of angry and spiteful remarks, of sass and smirks, of stolen caresses behind a closed door. And it took some days in her world, where her son was next to her, and her heart maybe ready, no longer crushed by grief, but instead lifted by the undying hope of getting Henry back. A campfire, a whispered promise, and a heated, audacious kiss.

She has beaten the witch, and she has her heart back, where it belongs. She's stronger than ever. She has told him of the magical dust, of her missed chance, of the meaning that the crest on his arm bears into her story.

And they have made love, slowly, slowly as it should always be, now that they don't need to hurry, now that there aren't impending dangers threatening their future. She has kissed his collarbone, she has trailed her fingers on his forearm, arching her back when he has reached her delicious points of release. There's no need to rush, the fire is cracking next to them, and he discovers he wouldn't have had it in any other way. He can take all the time he needs to cherish her, to admire every edge and curve of her body, to kiss her knuckles fondly, to make her reach her peek in a mess of sweat and kisses, and then she collapses on the couch of her office. There's no need to hold back, to worry about their sons, they are alone and together.

They find themselves lying on the soft cushions, and she takes the blanket, draping it above their tangled bodies. He holds her, and she thinks she could doze off, for she has never been more satisfied and perfectly happy than now.

"What do you think a soulmate is?" he asks, and she smiles contently, trailing a finger up and down his arm, eyes closed. He waits for her answer, and she feels his slow breaths against her hair.

"Well…" she doesn't know how to start, of course she has thought about this, in all those years. "Let's take Snow and David," she begins, and he listens in silence. "They are two halves of one single heart – literally," she chuckles. "And no matter how hard I've tried to separate them, back in… our days," she hesitates, and he knows why, but he also knows that her reluctance to talk about _her_ will fade, given time – "…I think that their _I will always find you_ crap really does work"

He has his eyes closed, lulled by her voice, and she lowers it. "Rumple and Belle are another story," she continues. "I could never understand how… how did it happen… but it did. And… I would say, they're like the moon and the sun," she whispers. "They're so different, but they fit well together, and she manages to pull him out of his darkness in a way… a way I hadn't seen until…" her voice stops. _Until us_ , she would want to say.

"Emma and Killian are… they are like two pieces of a puzzle," she says instead.

Robin mutters, against her hair. "But they aren't together," he objects.

"Oh, I know Miss Swan, trust me," she laughs. "Give her a few days – it will happen. With all the issues I may have with the pirate, she… completes him, they are different, and if you push too much, they may break"

Regina breaths slowly, his hand tangled with hers above her stomach, and she holds his fingers as if she doesn't want to let go. She closes her eyes, and waits, and bursts out the last sentences. "You asked what a soulmate is… and I don't really know how to answer, but I know how it feels like"

"And how does it feel?" he asks, and she feels her new-settled heart beating fast against her rib-cage.

"It feels like… like I've always known you," she whispers, and he places his lips on her temple. "Like we were born of the same star. Like in every universe, there's something that... attracts us together. Like I am a fire, and you're the wind, and the more you swirl around me, the more I burn" and she would want to say something else, but he is kissing her, and she finds out that she doesn't have to.


	14. what freedom is

_Written randomly._

* * *

 **What freedom is**

 _\- Set in 2.02, AU where Regina refuses Rumple's offering about magic and runs. She has thrown Cora across the mirror and she's not married._

The wind runs and chases her, she's shamefully happy, as her horse devours miles and miles. She is on the run. From the King, from the little brat, she's free. Trees slide at her sides; she savors the green mesmerizing scent of her freedom. _Fly, little birdie_ , she hears the imp whisper; her magic twirls inside of her.

She urges her horse, _faster, please_ , free and dirty, and guilty, and dark, and _weak_ , and –

She reaches a tavern, _not far enough_ , keeps stealing glances behind her shoulder, never at ease. The king's men enter and she fears, this is treason. She was his property, his toy, his whore. But they're not here for her, they're drunk, she throws a golden coin and goes away, _further, please_.

Another realm, one day has passed, her arm is bleeding, she stops again. _Not far enough_.

The woman's hands are gentle around her skin, the soup comforting, she wishes to stop, she can't. He's searching for her. Posters with her name have reached that land, there is not her face.

She never speaks, she tries to be a shadow. Greedy hands reach her one night, her darkness roars from her core – she wants to tear this man apart, to watch his limbs bleed, to hear his cries – she shakes her head, heart beating fast, his hand on her waist, _she has to destroy him_ , how dare he, he wants to take what is hers to give –

His mouth tastes of alcohol, and she feels little and weak, she could stop this, _if you let me show you how_ , the imp chants. She could stop this, she doesn't want to become like _her_ , a monster, a disease, she lets him push her against the wall, muffled sounds of revulsion her only reaction, she really tries, but –

The fire escapes from her control, he releases a strangled noise of pain and pushes her aside, holding his arm. She looks at him, and the world spins all of a sudden – her skin burns from the slap on her cheek, and she's on the ground. _Filthy whore_ , he spits, he swears, and she feels dirty, and scared – she didn't _want_ to burn him – she wanted to burn him _alive_ – she didn't want to – she's dark, she's out of control, it's just, she was really _angry_ –

"Are you alright?"

She looks up – angry, kind blue eyes are staring at her, and she barely has time to nod before the man turns and punches her suitor in his throat, and now he's on the ground too, holding his arm and his jaw, rambling curses, and she closes her eyes, expecting her punishment – but the hand on her shoulder is a gentle touch, and again, blue eyes.

"Milady?"

She's staring at him, and she thinks he's treating her as if she were a wounded animal – broken, scared, _weak_ –

"Are you alright?" he repeats. "Let's put something on that cheek, shall we?"

She nods weakly, lets him pull her up, one last glace at the man on the ground – she follows blue eyes around the corner, where he steals a piece of cloth and a cube of ice, presses it on her face – and she lets him, still frightened she could accidentally hurt someone, she's a _monster_ – like _Mother_ –

"Better?"

She nods again, eyes blurry, beginning to take in the shock – what she said to the imp was true, she _loved_ it, the magic, the _revenge_ –

His blue eyes won't leave her for a moment. "What did you do to him?"

She holds her breath, lowers her gaze, casually noticing the crest tattooed on his arm. "Nothing," she whispers, and she's so terribly afraid of herself, _is this how freedom looks like?_

He doesn't reply, but nears two glasses and a bottle. Pours amber liquid, "Looks like you could use a drink, for starters," and she knocks it down, then regrets it – _what if this makes me go out of control again_ – but he has a strange look.

"My mother had magic too," he says, like it's nothing, just some random information.

She stiffens, "I… I haven't –"

"There's nothing wrong with magic, milady," he tells her, and she focuses on his voice instead of the refrains in her head – _Foolish girl_ – _Love is weakness_ – _So kind, so gentle, so powerful_ – _You're going to be queen_ – _I'll be good, Mother_ – _Please_ –

"There is," she spits out.

"No," he affirms. "That depends on how you use it – and frankly, you had all the reasons,"

"I didn't want to," she confesses. "And I did"

"Understandable," he has a glimmer in his eyes, like he's… proud? He's not scared? But she's a _monster_ –

She lowers her eyes again, not sure of what's coming next. And he's offering his hand, and she looks up, blue eyes, _you're weak, foolish girl_ –

"I'm Robin," he smiles, and she lifts the corner of her lips, attempts to smile back –

"Regina".


	15. ameles potamos

_Have some OQ Au, guys. And a hug._

* * *

 **Ameles potamos**

 _\- It's another name for the River Lethe._

"So you just… found her? Just like that?"

Robin took a deep breath, sinking into a plastic chair. "Yes, just like that," he confirmed. He looked up towards the agent – blond, soft curls pulled up in an elaborate ponytail. "I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Agent Emma Swan," the blonde smiled. "Look, I know this is a bit hard, but I'd like you to focus just for a moment, then I'll leave you to your job, doctor".

"Okay," he answered, and Agent Swan sat next to him, crossing her legs.

"Tell me everything you remember".

.

 _Beep, beep, beep._

The first thing she registered, opening her eyes, was the pain. She blinked, and flinched, sensing a sharp sting coming from her right arm. _Ugh_. A silver needle was stuck in her skin, and she followed the red wire with her gaze – a blood sack was hung above her head, and she had to hold herself back from the sudden wave of repulsion.

 _Where am I?_

More wires were linked to her hand, and the pulsing sound she could hear was in sync with her heart.

 _Thump, thump, thump._

Blood was swirling in her veins – _thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump_ , – it started to accelerate, and she shut her eyes – the white of the room became black, a rush of anxiety, yellow spots flashing in the darkness.

 _Beeep, beeeep, beeeeep._

 _What?_

She couldn't understand – why was she so scared? The noise increased, and the almost-silence in the room became noise and confusion.

"What's happening?" a feminine voice, soft hands on her forehead, "increase the dose," sharp orders, a scream – floating in a blue sea – blue eyes? – black.

.

 _Beep, beep, beep_.

Again, she blinked.

"Can you hear me?" a deep voice, thick accent, brought her back to reality, and she turned her head. He wasn't standing up as a normal doctor would have done – he was sitting on a chair, staring at her.

"I need you to stay calm, ma'am," he said gently. "How are you feeling?"

She could have rolled her eyes, because how did he think she was feeling, in a hospital bed, with extraneous blood in her veins? She cleared her throat, trying to think rationally.

"Where am I?"

"Saint-Margaret hospital," he immediately answered. "Do you recall anything of what happened yesterday?"

She stared at him, her mind blank for a moment, and again that sense of anxiety digging a weird feeling in her brain. "No," she finally answered.

"As we thought," he said, concerned. "Before I tell you about what I do know, I need your personal details, ma'am. You were found without an ID".

She blinked, and something clicked – or better, it was as if the fog had lifted, and she could see.

 _Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump_.

No.

He was looking at her expectantly, but she felt tears gather in her eyes.

"I don't remember who I am".

.

He was taken aback by her answer – he had thought she was simply lost, but this… this was a new problem. He looked at her, trying not to scare her with his worry. A woman without an identity, without her memory, he had to call Agent Swan to make the PD diffuse a picture of her – this stranger who was now blinking back tears, alone and scared…

He took the calming tone he always used with children. "Ma'am, I can imagine this is difficult…"

"Actually, you _can't_ imagine at all," she replied weakly. "And stop calling me that. I must have a name, out there".

Robin stiffened, but didn't leave her eyes. "Alright. How will we call you, then? Any preference?"

She waved her free hand mockingly. "Oh, you choose. It will be awful, I bet".

He took a breath – this woman had lost her memory, but surely not her ability to throw snarky comments… he forced his brain to think of the most horrible names he could conjure. "Mildred? Diana? Rachel?"

"Oh please," she scoffed. "Over your dead body!"

"Fine" he brought up his hands, surrendering. She was staring at the white sheets of the bed, her expression not even amused. He tilted his head, suddenly struck by another name. "How about Victoria?"

She didn't answer immediately, but tightened her held on the blanket. "I could live with that," she whispered. "Who did find me?"

"I did."

.

He told her all. How he'd gone for a walk in the woods, as he always did after a tiring week. She could see signs of tiredness under his eyes, while he spoke. He told her how he had found her under a tree, near the river – unconscious, dehydrated and weak. Cold. So cold that he'd thought she was going to die in his arms.

How he'd carried her to his car at the edge of the forest, and drove her to the hospital where he worked, and brought her inside and entrusted her to Nurse Ratchet, while he was being questioned by an agent of the local police.

She listened without interrupting him, and when he finished the tale, she only asked him his name.

"Well, then, Robin," she told him, as if she was trying how his name would have sounded. "Thank you".

"You're very welcome," he answered. "I'll send someone check on you… Victoria".

She flinched, at that name, but nodded. He exited, with one last look… what happened to this woman?

.

It didn't take much time to find out. Her fiancé called from Afghanistan – informed by some American friends, he said he would be right back, he would be on furlough for some time. Her mother came along with her sister – the first haughty and yet caring, the second worried and scared. He watched as they embraced her. He caught her expression… she was trying, she _wanted_ to remember those people.

Her father brought a bundle of lilies and an album of photos. She went through the pictures, dutifully, nodding once in a while, but… there was nothing about those moments, in her mind.

They discovered she was simply lost in the woods when he had found her. And that she had probably fallen, hitting her head.

Agent Swan came to see her too – apparently, she had taken to heart her case. She was the one who had found her family, and most importantly, her name. It wasn't Victoria.

It was Regina.

.

He leaned on the door of her room, one month later. She was packing, her back to the entrance, and she was startled when she heard his voice.

"So, you're leaving".

She turned, a silken shirt in her hand. "It seems so".

"I'll miss you".

Her eyes softened. "And I, you. You've been an incredible help".

"But you still don't remember".

"No".

Robin took some steps, as she placed the shirt in her bag. "Will you come and say hi, sometimes?"

She diverted her eyes – a guilty look on her face. "Actually, I… I'm moving. Daniel and I, we are going to stay in Europe – a fresh start, you know…"

His heart, inexplicably, ached. "I see," he murmured. "Well, Regina… I wish you all the best".

She looked at him, then lifted on tiptoes to brush her lips against his. Their eyes locked for a moment, and her voice was sad when she spoke again.

"Goodbye, Robin".


	16. it's quiet, uptown

**It's quiet uptown**

 _\- Based on spoilers from 5.21. Inspired from a Hamilton song. Assumes that Roland stays in SB._

"I miss you."

Her first words are a whisper; it rolls under the hill and disappears in the wind. She can take in the sight of her city, from up there. The autumn leaves tremble, above her.

Sitting in the grass, she fiddles with a button of his jacket – she swims in it, he's always told her she is tiny, and he's been rewarded with offended glares and playful fists.

Her fingers find the satchel she's brought, and a familiar glow from inside warms her features. Her battered, black-veined heart pulses slowly, and she breaths, taking it, another breath. It returns inside her chest – tears spring free, the pain amplifies one hundred times.

She takes it, the pain. Once a year, in this exact spot, she'll return and take it.

.

"Your daughter is beautiful," she tells him – she speaks to the wind, embraces her knees. "And your son is growing up so fast… I wish you were here to see them grow up, thief."

"I think I've managed to do what you've asked me, this year. To go on. Sometimes –" she stops, staring at two birds dancing together with angry swirls. "Sometimes I wonder why we were given a second chance, if we were to lose it so soon."

.

"Look at where we started, I hated you, your insufferable smirk, your stubbornness, your trust. Look at where we are. You're gone, and I'm lost."

"I wonder when I'll stop paying. When will I be forgiven. Forgiveness, can you imagine?"

.

She looks down, rips off a blade. "Sometimes I pray – that never used to happen before. I don't know which god. But I have to believe I can meet you."

One last tear falls, and she is reaching for her heart. Feelings are now muffled. She rises; eyes embracing the city once again, she rubs her forearm.

"You know, it's quiet, uptown. You would have liked it. I never liked the quiet before…"


	17. cinq

_Five stages of grief, five drabbles._  
 _This, is for Robin._

* * *

 **Un: Denial**

 _Oblivion._

 _Never again._

 _One minute you're here, and then… you're gone_.

Her hands cradle softly his face, stroking the shadow of beard she likes so much, and hot tears land quickly, she sobs.

 _No, not again, no._

Zelena's hand finds hers, but her eyes never leave his body, a Camelot reminiscence, and her heart is beating fast – adrenaline pumping blood, even if there's nothing to fear, Hades is a pile of ashes.

 _No._

 _You can't be gone. You promised._

But he's there – and he isn't moving –

She is sure, in one minute he'll get up. He'll call her _Milady_ again.

* * *

 **Deux: Anger**

When she sees _him_ , all goes red.  
Emma keeps avoiding her eyes, and she knows why.  
They walk slowly towards her family, holding hands, and she remembers that time they did so as Dark Ones, _except that Robin was alive in the diner and not erased by existence –_

"How."

It's a demand, and Emma meets her gaze, for a second, clears her throat.

"Zeus… rewarded him…"

"I can see."  
Her words are a cold, sharp cut in the rain. She feels Zelena squeezing her forearm. The world stills, waiting her reaction. Darkness boils.

"It seems _some_ ex-villains get happy endings."

* * *

 **Trois: Depression**

She hears the toasts in his honor. The clinking of the glasses fill the diner, and maybe someone is staring at her expectantly, but she doesn't find a reason to lift her hand and cheer. Eyes fixed on a crack in the table's wood, she waits.

"Regina?"

Snow's voice, and she turns her head – she and David linger sheepishly. She barely acknowledges their presence.

"You don't have to go through this alone."

 _Says the split-heart princess_ , she thinks bitterly. Then she kicks herself, they're trying to help, she shouldn't be so ungrateful. She realizes they're still there.

She nods slowly.

* * *

 **Quatre: Bargaining**

Déjà-vus are weird, she thinks. You'd believe two situations are equals – but the first time, her world wasn't so shattered, she was just worried for him, for having left him and Roland with her sister.

And now he's gone.

Emma is speeding the yellow bug up towards New York, again.  
To Henry, not to Robin.  
Threatened by Gold, again.

"It should have been me."

Emma doesn't answer.

She could scream to those unfair gods.  
 _Bring him back, take me. Punish me. He didn't deserve this.  
Bring him back, and I'll do anything. Let me know he's okay._

Only silence answers.

* * *

 **Cinq: Acceptance**

"Robin was a good man, and a good father, and I loved him for this."

One year later, they are all standing next to his grave, and she holds Roland's hand, meets Henry's proud gaze.

"I'm sure he would tell me _Regina, I didn't think you had such a great opinion of me_ ," she smiles fondly. "But it's true."

She watches as little Robyn climbs down from Zelena's arms. Her blue eyes flash towards her – and it's like meeting his eyes again. Her niece takes two tentative steps and reaches the stone, places her chubby hand there. _Daddy_ , she whispers.


	18. the letter that never came

**The Letter That Never Came (Songs For Regina)**

 _\- based on 5.22._

* * *

 _I like to think that in Robin's envelope, there were more words. And she has read them alone in their bedroom, holding the feather from his arrow._

My dear Regina,

The autumn is quiet, here in New York.  
Sometimes I like to wander in Central Park, alone. It brings me back to my past, when life was simpler, and I lived amongst the trees, stealing from the rich and being honorable.  
Honor is what parted us more than once, and for that I'm sorry. Honor, and the need to protect those who are in danger.

You know, when I met you, I'd never thought it would have ended up like this.

I think of you very often.

My dear Regina,

Fate has been cruel to us, and I know that what happened was unfair to both you and me. Above all, because I wanted to build a future with you. I wanted to wake up at your side every morning. To help you defeat the evil in this world, and to be your partner. As I promised you that time in your castle, when we broke in your vault together.

I wanted us to have it all.

It didn't happen, and it pains me.

I told you, once, that I'd have walked through Hell to be with Marian again. Now that I'm with her, I know for sure that it isn't true anymore. But for you, oh, I'd follow you to Hell and back, and anywhere else you wish to go, no matter the place.

My dear Regina,

I've never told you how I fell in love with you. You, stubborn, beautiful, stunning woman.

I think I've fallen for you thrice, you know?

In the Missing Year, it was one morning, at dawn, and Roland had bought you a bunch of wildflowers for saving him, and you had the most beautiful smile. That was when I knew I loved the woman as wella s the mother.

In Storybrooke, it was when I read Rumple's letter, sitting on our trunk, and I've watched you sink a hand inside your chest and extract the most beautiful heart I'd ever seen. And you were almost shy, fearing my judgement. And that was when I knew I loved every part of you, darkness and light, because they melted so perfectly in your heart. You were so brave, that night.

And the last time, it was when we took Roland for an ice cream and we kissed in front of Granny's. That was when I knew I loved Regina.

My dear Regina,

I know this is hard for you, believe me. I hope you'll find happiness without me, milady. You deserve it. I imagine there will always be something missing, because the same holds for me. When I'm with you, I'm whole. I will forever cherish our moments together, and the night I spent with you in my arms has a special, treasured place in my heart.

My dear Regina,

I'm sorry I couldn't get the chance to tell you one thing. I was about to, when we parted at the town line, but you just said "I know."  
I still need to say it.

I love you, Regina, every part of you. You need to appreciate every part of you.

Without your darkness, I wouldn't have met you.  
Without your light, I couldn't have loved you.

My dear Regina,

If this has to be the last exchange of words between us, let me be unforgivably sappy, because all I want in this moment is to hold you, kiss you, and tell you that everything is going to be fine. It's going to get easier, somehow. Maybe not today. But someday.

I just wish I could have loved you as you deserve right from the start. I wish we had years together, time to waste, just time.  
Mornings spent reading _Robin Hood_ under a blanket, and I would have got mad because they wrote it wrong, and you would have laughed and told me "Yes, thief, look at my story, I'm the one who should complain about poor writing."

I'm grateful I got a chance to play a part in your story, my love.

My dear Regina,

I know I shouldn't be writing this, but I had to let you know how proud I am of you. You opened your heart and let it change you. And no matter what separates us, I know you'll always be the heroine woman I fell in love with.

Robin


	19. power of three

**Power of Three**

 _\- 5.21 alternate ending._

* * *

When Emma entered the Mayor's office, she would never have expected the sight in front of her eyes – Zelena was sobbing, clinging to Regina, who was instead crying silently – Robin was lying next to them, eyes closed.

"What the hell?"

The only answer she got, were louder sobs from Zelena. Regina looked at her – in her eyes, something was off, as if a flame had stopped burning.

"Hades…" she motioned towards Robin's lifeless body, Emma was already kneeling and placing two finger on his neck – no pulse.

"… and he tried to kill me too," Regina sniffed – and Emma felt tears prickle in her eyes, because Regina's voice was too quiet, broken.

"…and then… Zelena stabbed him with the crystal," she murmured, and now Emma could understand why Zelena was crying so desperately.

She suddenly looked up. "Regina, split your heart!" she exclaimed, surprised that the queen hadn't already done it.

"It's no use," a lonely tear fell down. "His… his soul has been erased, Emma!"

"What?"

"The… the crystal, it deletes one's soul, I can't bring him back!"

"Oh my god," Emma's hand flew to cover her mouth. "But…"

"No buts," Regina cut short, in a blunt attempt of putting her _conceal-don't-feel_ mask on. "That's what happens when someone loves me, Emma. They get hurt. Surely you remember of Camelot? Of the ball, of the dreamcatcher? Of Daniel?" She was hissing between her teeth now, and Emma flinched at her surge of anger.

Regina got up, squeezing her sister's hand one last time – Zelena was staring at the floor, a blank expression had replaced her tears – and reached the Mayor's desk, opened a drawer and pulled out something familiar.

She turned, and unfolded page twenty-three in front of her eyes. "This? This was a cruel joke, Miss Swan, as I've told you before," she exclaimed, fingers clenching around the paper. "This whole soulmate thing was a cruel joke. He didn't deserve this, and certainly not for _me_ ," she spat out – Emma stared at her, concerned, as she began pacing. "Because Roland – and the baby –" she gestured towards the crib, suddenly speechless, and slammed the page back on her desk.

"Regina – what do you mean, his soul has been erased?"

"Haven't you your father's wit?" she said angrily. "No Underworld, no Heaven, nothing, it's like – like he has never existed! It's like when – "

Emma looked at her intently – she had stopped in the middle of a sentence, her gaze lost somewhere, as if she was remembering something.

"When what?"

Regina's eyes widened, and then she did something that startled Emma even more – a smile was cracking open on her face, and she meet her eyes – the fire she had thought was extinguished was back, _hope_ was back.

"I need you two to wait here," she looked at her, pointing briefly at Zelena. "Can you do that?"

Emma was absolutely confused – she had just started saying "Sure, but why –" that Regina was already gone in a cloud of her violet smoke. She watched the place where she had disappeared – _what on hell was she hoping to do?_ – and turned her attention to Zelena.

"Look, I… I know you must hate me," she told her, but she wasn't answering. "But I… I want you to know that… I'm sorry for Hades, Zelena," and the witch turned her head towards her, a clear question written on her frown.

"What?"

"I know how it feels to… to kill the man you love… to save someone," she explained – flashes of that night, that dark night when she had to stab Killian's body because they were all going to die and then she wasn't the Dark One anymore and Nimue was choking her again –

Zelena nodded, a glimpse of understanding flashing between them, but then Regina was back, holding a black satchel, the smoke dissipating quickly from around her figure.

"Where have you been? Would you care to explain now?" said Emma, but Regina ignored her, instead, she kneeled down next to Robin, and leaned on to kiss his lips. She lingered there for a moment – _was it a goodbye kiss?_ – and then she parted, wiping away a tear.

"Okay," she said, resolute, and turned towards her sister. "Now, that's the plan –" she busted out, locking her eyes with Zelena's. She pulled out the Apprentice's wand, and gave her to the other woman – who was staring at her, puzzled.

"I don't know if it will work and, frankly, I don't care," she started, "so, I've taken this from Gold's shop," she opened the satchel, and Emma stared at the round medallion that she was showing. "It's the thing Rumple used on me right after you broke the first curse, Miss Swan – the thing that summons –"

" – the Wraith? The soul sucker? Are you crazy?"

"I thought that _you_ , of all people, would have understood," said Regina, unfazed, "you, who dragged us all to Hell and back to save Hook, you –"

"Regina, you could die!"

"I don't care!" she yelled. "Not when I have a chance – an _actual_ chance of getting him back, I don't –"

"But Henry –"

"Emma, _please_ ," she leaned on to take her hand, and she had the same expression of that evening in Camelot, _I've lost love before, and I won't again_ , she could almost hear the echo in her head. "Henry still has you. I have to try, I have – _please_. Help me."

Emma took a breath, and finally nodded. "I really, really hope this goes well, Regina, because _your_ son will _never_ forgive me if –"

"It will," she cut. "It has to," and it sounded almost if she was convincing herself.

"Okay, if you don't mind me asking… how are we going to do it?"

"I mark myself, the soul sucker comes, you keep it at bay –"

"What?"

"Last time, you didn't know how to use magic, and I didn't have light magic," Regina explained quickly. "But this time, we are better equipped."

"Okay, I keep it at bay, then how are you gonna do the… split-thing… if it's sucking your soul?"

"Oh, I'm not going to do anything," she answered. "Zelena will."

Emma and Zelena both turned towards Regina. "What?"

She shifted to face her sister, and took her hand. "I don't know if you noticed," she told her, eyes shining with tears. "But you _can_ do light magic now – True Love's kiss is light magic, after all – and saving me, when we were kids, it was light magic as well –"

The thought hit Emma as a lightning – she was right.

Zelena looked uncomfortable, as she met her sister's gaze. "You really think I could do that?"

"I'm certain of it," she said, and Emma had never seen Regina more confident, more hopeful, more _powerful_ than now. Zelena nodded, and squeezed the wand in a reassuring gesture – maybe to calm herself, she didn't know.

Regina smiled at both of them – one last glance at Robin, and they were getting up, ready to action. She took the medallion – how she'd find it in that mess of a shop, Emma was wondering – and closed her eyes, pushing the emblazoned engraving deep into her skin. Then, she opened her hand, and it fell down with a resounding sound.

"What now?" Emma whispered, and she didn't open her eyes, but shook her head, telling her to be silent.

"It's coming," she stated, and Emma could feel the tickling electricity of dark magic – she remembered all too well her days as Dark One, and her natural light rejected that blackness with repulsion.

They waited, and waited. Zelena quickly moved to take her daughter – she brought her out, probably to hide her somewhere safe – at least, safer, there wasn't _time_ to call someone to babysit, not if they wanted to save him, not if they wanted to save _really_ save him, they hadn't time, because they had waited too long with Killian, and then his body was beyond salvation, and now he wasn't –

Her train of thought stopped when she felt it – a wave of dirty shadows, and suddenly the monster was fluctuating in front of them.

There had to be another way to extract her soul, Emma thought, but the black mass was already searching for its victim, and Zelena was clutching to her wand – Emma raised her hands, recollecting the happiest memories and feelings she could gather – Henry's smile, her father cradling her head, her mother's hugs, Killian's hand holding hers – and then the white flow come, just as the Wraith had started its draining action – Regina was trembling next to her, and she struggled to keep the monster still.

"Now, Zelena!" she screamed, and Zelena moved the wand with a sharp cut in the air, and added another flow, pale green and white, to Emma's own, as the wand's spiral was – extracting? Removing? – a light blue globe – and she kept it lifted in mid-air, as Regina gasped for breath.

"Emma – Emma!" she managed to spat out, "Send it away!"

She pushed, then.

Henry and the rainbow blast when she had broken the curse – Neal laughing with her in the woods, Killian's last kiss and their breaths mingling, Maleficent's smile when Lily was back, Regina hugging Henry when he had remembered her, her baby brother squeezing her finger with his tiny hand –

She pushed again – and a vortex opened, she didn't know how Zelena had done it, but it was working – and another, ultimate push, and the monster was screaming and passing through the portal, and suddenly there was… silence.

Like a picture.

Emma with her hands still lifted. Regina clenching to the table. Apples everywhere on the floor. Zelena with the wand lifted, and the tiny blue ball pulsing slowly.

"Come on, do it," she urged, because Regina was growing paler and paler, and she collapsed to the floor, slackening the impact with one hand – she went to lay next to Robin, eyes getting heavier –

"Zelena, do it, please," she whispered.

Zelena stood taller, then. She closed her eyes – ready to save her sister's life for the third – fourth? – time, she lifted a hand, to take the glowing soul in her palm, and let the wand fall, to cup the ball with both hands. Emma saw only determination when she pulled apart the two halves – Regina winced, but didn't move, and Zelena kneeled, holding one half in each hand, and pushing them slowly across their bodies.

Emma held her breath – all stood still for a moment, and she could almost feel her own heart beating.

Regina was – she was _still_ _alive_ , and almost not breathing of anticipation and worry as she turned her head towards her lover, and all three women froze, waiting –

– for an heartbeat –

Then, a breath.

A deep, manly breath, of someone who shatters a watery surface to come back to air and life, he inhaled and exhaled, and then Regina was crying and laughing and throwing herself on him and Zelena was sobbing, releasing all the tension, and Robin and Regina were kissing desperately on the floor, and Emma's knees couldn't hold her anymore and she fell too, relief washing over her soul.

They would have had time for explanations, hugs, and more tears, and Henry scolding his moms for almost dying, and Emma let herself cry – relief, because at least he was _alive_ , at least they'd saved him.

 _Oh, Killian, I wish you were here with me_.

Robin was sitting now – she couldn't see Regina's face, for it was hidden, forehead pressed on the crook of his neck, her shoulders shaking.

"It worked," Emma exhaled, and Regina shifted her tear-stained face to nod at her, and she had the widest smile she'd ever seen on her. Robin was keeping his eyes closed, breathing slowly against her hair, and whispering loudly _What have you done_ and _Thank the gods you're safe_ and _You're the most stubborn woman I've ever met_ , and Zelena's eyes were shining, Regina stretching out a hand to take hers in a silent thank you.

Emma turned towards the door – she heard a commotion, and baby cries, and hurried screams –

Then, she didn't know how, her mom and her dad and Henry were bursting in the room, and – wait, no, it couldn't be possible –

His voice – he was _here_ , standing on the doorframe.

"Did I miss something, love?"


	20. sweethearts

_Happy birthday, Alexia! An OQ AU for ya, lovely.  
_

* * *

 **Sweethearts**

 _._

 _Sweet talkin' lady, love how you entice  
Sugar, with just the right amount of spice  
_

 _._

"Regina Mills. I didn't think you had it in you."

He's leaning on her desk, arms crossed and a cocky smile on his lips – she slams her purse on the table, rubs her temples for a brief moment. Her headache is getting worse, and it's barely nine in the morning.

"What the _hell_ are you talking about?" she asks, annoyed, in her best _cut-the-crap_ tone.

He shifts one of his French books to reach his backpack – pulls out his phone, and unlocks the screensaver, turning it towards her.

"This."

She squeezes her eyes to see, slightly bothered by the blueish light of the screen. It's a Facebook page – her page, she notices, and there, under her profile picture…

"What is this?" she squeals, grabbing his phone to read better.

"You tell me," he grins, satisfied of her reaction.

She reads it again, and she can't believe to her own eyes. _When did I write this?_  
Problem is, she knows _exactly_ when.

Yesterday night, Mal has brought three bottles of vodka to her apartment, and Emma has joined them, and maybe there were also Mary and Ella – maybe Ruby, at some point – and everything is a blur, and her headache has redoubled. She stares at the post, hoping it will disappear.

 _Does somebody wanna be fake engaged to me for like 2 hours to try free wedding cake samples?_

"Oh, my god," she moans, closing her eyes – when she reopens them, the post is still there, and Robin is grinning more than ever.

"Wipe that smile off your face, Locksley," she spits out, "before I force you to."

"So, did anyone answer?" he asks, like he doesn't know already. She's reading the comments – a few are mocking and not so nice, there are some proposals and even an innocent smiley from Mal.

"Doesn't matter, I'm deleting this –"

" – well I wouldn't mind accompanying you –"

She lifts her gaze, meets his eyes. "W-what?"

He shrugs, but there's a smile creeping up his face. "If it's a real thing, we could go together," he says, so casually she thinks she's imagining things.

She bites her lower lip, eyes going down again to avoid his, and notices – there's a link in the post, and – oh –

"It is," she informs, "apparently, I've shared the link too –"

"Well then it's settled," he says, lifting up from her desk.

"I didn't say yes!" she protests, but when he looks at her, all her counter-arguments die.

"Come on, Regina, it will be fun – free cakes!"

She diverts her eyes, and breathes, her mind racing – _can I do this? Why does he want to_ – then Emma's voice raises in her head, _that guy in your French class, he's pretty taken with you, isn't he?_ and Mal's voice echoes, _heart-eyes again, Regina, you're so gross,_ – and all the stolen glances she's thrown him over the _participe passé_ and Baudelaire's poems, and the scribbled notes he often leaves on her book –

"Okay," she hears herself answer, and he smiles widely then, and maybe this _will_ be fun.

When they enter in the cake shop, the music is loud, her tangerine and floaty dress is tickling her skin from the heat, and he has taken her hand in his with one shift movement.

"What are you doing?" she whispers.

"Fake engagement, remember?" he answers, and leads her forward – a woman with strange dyed hair is coming towards them, and they stop in their tracks – her heart is hammering, her gaze slides on the other couples.

"Good morning, darlings!" the woman greets with a sticky sweet voice, and Regina raises an eyebrow, turns slightly her head to meet Robin's gaze. "So, when's your wedding?" she asks bluntly, and before either of them can even open their mouth, she's nearing Robin, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding them towards –

Tables and tables of cakes.

Tall, small, colored or white, red petals scattered in the trays, shining silver spoons and forks, white napkins and even whiter tablecloths. The scent in the air is almost overwhelming – a sweetness lingering all around them, and the ambiance is airy and bright, the cakes standing out as vivid spots of color.

"Oh, ahem, in – in February," Robin stumbles a bit in telling the lie, and the woman nods, brings them in front of a free table that hosts no less than six cakes.

"Oh, February is such a romantic month," the woman beams, and leans on to pour some champagne in two glasses. She shoves one in Regina's hand, gives the other to Robin.

"Yes, it will be… the week of your birthday, right, honey?" he says, looking at her, and she is taken aback for an instant – how does he even _know_ when her birthday is? But she nods, squeezing his hand gratefully, and takes a sip of champagne.

"Ah, a man who remembers dates, he's surely a keeper," the woman says, inspired. "Well, I'll leave you two to our cakes – try all you want, and don't forget to write down your favorites, okay? Ah, Eva, darling!" her gaze runs towards an elegant woman who has just entered, and she leaves them there. Silence falls in a matter of seconds.

"So," Regina says hesitantly. This all thing was funny in her head – but now it seems to be an awkward first date, and he still hasn't left her hand.

"So," he repeats, and she lets her eyes linger on a sugar flower. The music is even louder on the inside – and now he's rubbing his thumb over her hand, soothingly, and waits for her to talk. But her head is empty, except for the sugar flower and the music.

 _Si te vas, yo también me voy –  
Si me das, yo también te doy –  
Mi amor – _

"Regina?" he whispers, and her head snaps towards him. "You okay?"

"Yes," she rushes to answer. "Just translating the lyrics in my mind," and he nods, but then that woman is coming back and so he leans towards her, and kisses her temple in affection. She feels his lips against her skin, and relishes the sensation.

"Sorry, I had to –" he mutters, and she nods, then shakes her head slightly.

"Stop apologizing, I'm the one who should give more effort in this thing –" she tries, but he tightens his grip on her hand, and murmurs _It's fine_.

She shakes from her trance, at his words, and puts down their glasses, grabs a fork from the table – sinks it into the nearest cake, chocolate on the inside, and nears it to his mouth. "Come on, you first," she encourages, and he opens, welcoming the bite.

She watches as he gulps it down, and smiles at her, "It's good," he says, "try it," he takes the fork and mimics her movements, and soon the sweet savor is filling her senses.

"Oh, wow," she sighs, "okay, greatest idea I've _ever_ had –"

He scoffs, then, and the fork – still near her lips – goes to prick her lower lip softly. "Sorry?" he says, as she's letting out an offended _ouch!_ , "What do you mean, you had this idea?"

Regina takes another fork and presses one tip on his arm, _payback_ , she thinks, and smiles devilishly. "My post, my idea."

"You told me you were drunk. Doesn't count."

"Yes it does."

"You couldn't even remember to have posted it!"

Then she smacks lightly his arm, and nears another forkful of cake to his mouth – it's whipped cream and strawberries, this time, and suddenly his mouth is all white and red of cream.

"Ah, is that so?" he says, outraged, and takes a spoon – tries to splay cream on her lips as well, but she turns her head all of a sudden, and he dirties her cheek instead. "Ops, sorry," he grins, and she narrows her eyes.

Before she can say a word, however –

"Oh, aren't you two _a-do-ra-ble_ ," tweets that woman's voice from behind them, and they turn in sync, mouths still dangerously unclean. Regina catches a glimpse of Robin trying to wipe away the white-and-red mix with his hand, and thoughts about how she should as well cross her mind, but she's too frozen in place to do it herself.

"I wanted to tell you, darlings, that we need your names to put you on our list –"

"I'm – I'm sorry, what list?" he asks, and the world stands still for a heartbeat.

 _Oh, shit._

"Well the list of all the couples of course, to contact you before the wedding – to pay for all this and to make agreements about the definitive cake you'll eat at the ceremony!"

Regina widens her eyes, and her heart skips a beat – _is that even possible? What part of the word_ free _isn't clear?_ – and oh, now the silence is getting embarrassing – she'd elbow Robin if she could, he's not reacting. She should have read the link in her post better, she shouldn't have just thrown herself into this, but he was so… tempting, and…

Her mind drifts from that morning in class – back to the present.

"Oh, sure, the list," she takes a breath and answers the woman. "We'll be _thrilled_ to be a part of the list – just let me go to the bathroom to clean up this mess, alright?"

The woman nods eagerly, and beams again – doesn't suspect a thing, but Robin is still not moving and she has to drag him away from the table. She feels the woman's eyes on her, and maybe she suspects something?

Now, he's looking at her, throws a glance at the woman, and she thinks he'll screw this up if he keeps acting like this – so she decides, in a split second, and pushes on her tiptoes and nears her lips to his. Inclines her head so that her words can't be read, and whispers _Follow me outside when she's not looking_. He nods, a knowing smile on his mouth, but the woman is probably still watching – so, for good measure, she presses a kiss on the corner of his lips.

His hand finds hers, and they lock eyes for a moment, before turning their heads and smiling to the woman, who's now satisfied, because she nods and smiles and diverts her gaze.

"Now," Regina hisses, and they half-walk half-rush towards the door, throwing glances behind their shoulders – then they are outside, and a laugh blossoms from the deep of her belly and they're running, hand in hand, around the corner, and they stop , panting and laughing.

"Well that was close," he smiles, and Regina doesn't answer, just brings up a hand to her forehead, adrenaline still running through her veins.

"God, this is the last time I listen to you," she smiles, and he shakes his head.

"Well, I hope it won't be the last – you have some –" his hand flies up to her face, wiping away the remnants of his little revenge, but then, he doesn't take it off from her skin… "– cream here," he ends, and his hand is warm against her cheek.

"Thanks," she whispers, lost momentarily in his eyes. Then, she clears her throat, and his hand leaves her cheek. He blinks, and clears his throat too.

"Listen, would you… like a coffee? To remedy this cake-disaster?" he offers, and she ponders the question for a moment, before nodding.

"Okay, yes," she agrees, and the way his eyes light up… it has her heart warming and her cheeks flush.  
"But you pay."


	21. who keeps your flame

_Some established future Dragon Queen, in a very sad day. Heavily OQ._

* * *

 **Who Keeps Your Flame**

 _._

 _We were the victims of ourselves  
Maybe the children of a lesser God  
Between heaven and hell _

.

She's been cranky all day. She has snapped at Henry – twice – and scolded little Robyn for leaving the cat alone with the laundry – that damned cat, he loves to crouch down between clean clothes, and she has to rewash them every time.  
Her sister hasn't said a word, just eyed her with the promise of some late talking, and has taken her almost-crying daughter's hand, luring her with promises of ice cream and a movie.

Maleficent hasn't spoken about her edgy mood – she knows Regina too well not to understand that she absolutely doesn't want to _talk about it_ , or to _let someone in_ , so she simply squeezes her shoulder in a gesture of affection, trying to transmit her willingness to help, without being insistent.

Four years.

Four years ago, and precisely today, she has lost him.

Regina has her days to grieve – at least four, as far as she knows. Her mother, her father, Daniel – these are days of quiet melancholy, of content sadness, because at least, _at least_ , she knows they moved on, to a better place, and she can just miss them.

But today – today it's another story.

She climbs under the sheets a good hour after her – curled on herself, she can only see her back, and she wonders if she's silently crying. Outside, a thunderstorm starts. She lies there, listening to the ever-growing noise, listening, and feeling Regina's breaths – they slow down, and then she closes her eyes, doesn't try to disturb her, and sleeps.

– § –

Her scream comes at the same time as a thunder falls.

She wakes, startled, and Regina is still asleep, but so still that it's scaring. Her eyes roam to find her face – a quick impulse from her hand, and they have a small-sized globe of fire fluctuating above them.

"Regina?"

Her hand finds her arm slowly, and she shakes gently, only now noticing the dried trails of tears on her cheeks. But Regina inhales and opens her eyes – there's pain, sadness, despair and _fear_.

"Mal."

She pulls on her elbows and sits – squeezes her eyes, and brings up a hand to wipe away the wetness she must feel. Mal thinks it's safe to touch her now that she's awake – her hand rubs her back, and she joins her in her sitting position.

"You okay?" she whispers – prays Regina didn't wake the kids, or Zelena, for that matter, she's in the next room.

"Yes," she murmurs, "just the – thunders, I think," and again, she doesn't even mention his name, but Mal knows it's not the storm, it's not the thunder, it's her soul aching painfully – it's her heart, broken and never mended.

She doesn't mind a broken heart. She doesn't mind darkness.  
She can love both, she can take care of both.

But the one who was supposed to take care of her soul is gone, and Regina doesn't even have a little comfort in knowing he's happy – or in heaven, or at least that she can meet him again someday.

She is still sitting – she has her gaze planted upon the fire globe, and Mal wonders what exactly is she thinking of. She wonders, how did he die? Because this isn't the first time that a storm has made her scream – she wonders if there were thunders, involved in his death, or a blaze of electricity, or a loud noise.

She has never told her.

No one else was present – Zelena wasn't, she arrived and found her sister clinging to his body, death and rage in her eyes. Well, little Robyn was there. But she was a baby, and it's painful enough, when she asks of her dad.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mal asks quietly, and as expected, Regina shakes her head imperceptibly. Then, she turns, leaning on, and Mal invites her in her arms.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she whispers to her shoulder, she feels tears falling and soaking her shirt, and holds her as she sobs, finally letting the gates of sadness open, and her grief flow.

She feels a pang of self-loathing, too – she thinks _he_ would have known how to bring her comfort. She thinks the person Regina needs to talk with, about his death… it's him.

"He…" Regina tries to speak, a new hiccup interrupts for a second. Then she resumes, more firmly. "He was my best friend, you know," she tells her, and her heart breaks a little more. The shaking of her back increases, and she sobs more loudly. "Oh, Mal, I miss him," she sounds so little, and she can only hug her tightly, rocking her, stroking her hair.

"I know," she says, and those two words, it's like a drop in the sea, it's not a help, she feels so useless. She can't give him back to her. She keeps holding her, and waits, hoping that little hopeless girl she has met so many years ago can, one day, find some peace.

.

 _If I could spare his life  
If I could trade his life for mine  
He'd be standing here right now  
And you would smile,  
And that would be enough._


	22. up we go

_For Ayla and for the magic couple Sarah+Alexia._

* * *

 **Up We Go**

 _\- from the prompt: I've heard you crying from downstairs and came to check on you but you were just watching a movie..._

Maybe it's silly. Maybe he shouldn't do this. Maybe he's only being a fool, intruding like that, standing here outside of _her_ door – but before he can give it another thought, before he can stop himself from a potentially stupid action – his hand decides to do it, and he hears two knocks resounding in the apartment.

 _Shit._

He briefly considers running away, but it's too late, because he can hear light steps coming, and the key turning in the locket, and – oh.

 _Oh._

Regina Mills, his beautiful neighbor-of-downstairs, owner of the-most-annoying-cat-ever, morning-waver and sometimes smiler, grower of sunflowers on the balcony and listener of Ella Fitzgerald and Rihanna – Regina Mills is standing right in front of him, and she has the puffy eyes of someone who has cried too much in a very short time. (And is in a crop-top and sweatpants, but that's entirely secondary to the matter.)

She stares at him for a split second, before realizing who he is. She sniffs – a wet sound, all nose and throat, and straightens her spine, trying to regain some composure.

"Yes?" she asks coldly, but she can't hide a hint of shaky-voice.

"I, aehm, –" he stumbles, because this is easily the first time he sees her like this, and not dressed up, in high heels and ready to conquer the world, eat her antagonists alive and still have time for some tequilas.

"Did you need something, Robin?"

Her words are cutting, sharp, and she is ready to slam the door on his face, and he somehow knows he has some seconds to answer. "I, I… I wanted to check on you, I guess," he says, scolding himself right after the last word has left his mouth. _Really? Check on you? What an idiot…_

"And what on earth has given you any indication I needed to be checked up, pray tell?"

He looks straight in her eyes, then. She can pretend all she wants, but shit, Regina Mills has feelings, and she's human, and this is an exceptional discovery. "I've heard you crying from upstairs, Regina."

She averts her eyes, somewhat sheepishly, and maybe he's a bigger idiot than he initially thought. Maybe she just wanted to be alone. But then, she scoffs at his concern. "I'm not crying."

"Yeah, and I'm Jon Snow," he says, exaggerating his tone, and believes to have caught a glimpse of smile before she narrows her eyes.

"You mean, you're a dork who knows nothing and, more specifically, doesn't hold back from bothering badass girls? Yes, you could easily be," she rolls her eyes, and he laughs, because crying or not, Regina always tells things to one's face, and that's exactly like her.

"I _do_ know some things," he says, passing to his best flirting mode, which gains him another eye-roll. He places a hand on the doorframe. "You want to talk about it?"

She smiles, finally, shakes her head. "You'll think I'm silly."

He shrugs, because he thinks many things of her, but silly, he could never. He keeps on with the love-hate game, that's their way, bickering and professing attraction under insults. "Until today, I thought you were a heartless woman," he says. "You proved me wrong."

She raises her eyebrows, and crosses her arms. "Well then, come inside," she moves, to let him through. "Judge by yourself."

He walks in, a bit confused – if she doesn't tell him what's wrong, how could he understand? He searches for opened bottles of super alcoholics, for battered handkerchiefs, or smashed dishes, or any sign of heartbreak or loss. It's all so tidy, so neat, the only thing out of place is a bowl of popcorns in front of the TV – currently paused, black screen, and her cat sprawled on the couch.

"I am honestly clueless," he tells her. She has followed him, and sighs again, taking the remote. She presses _play_.

And the TV comes alive. And it's a Disney movie.

More specifically, it's UP, the movie he has watched at John's house one evening, because John's daughter, little Daisy, absolutely wanted to _show Uncle Robin the movie with many many balloons and a doggie._

Regina is not looking at him, she has her gaze fixated on the ceiling, ignoring him, and thank god for that, because he manages to school his features into something serious before bursting into laughter. He clears his throat. "You… you were crying for this?" he says, and she turns.

"Any problems?"

"None of the sort," he assures. "I've watched it myself."

"If you must know, I've borrowed it from my godson," she tells him, haughty, arms still crossed. "And it just… poked me in a weak spot."

He nears her, then. He has paid enough attention, that evening, to be able to tell the movie is still at the beginning, and that she has cried during Carl and Ellie's story. (He was still awake, at that point.)

With a tentative hand, he rubs her forearm. "I'm sorry," he says earnestly. "You want to talk about it? Have a drink?" he offers, and she ponders for a moment.

"I don't want to talk about it," she murmurs. "But I could use a drink, yes."

She squeezes his hand on her arm, then turns, her back to him, and walks in the small kitchenette, and brings down a bottle of whiskey from a glassed cupboard. Pours two half-glasses, and if it's a bit early to drink, who cares. Once she returns, he has settled on the sofa, and she watches in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

"I'll watch the movie," he says, simply. "I'll even hold your tissues, if you want."

She shakes her head, and goes sit next to him – places the cat on a side, and he protests with a hiss. She passes him his drink, and takes the remote, but before she can press play, he lifts his glass, motioning a toast. "To Carl and Ellie," he announces, in a serious voice, and she smacks his arm, before clicking her glass with his.

"To Ellie and Carl."

His arms goes to circle her shoulders, and when she cries a little, at the end, he's more than ready to welcome her head on his chest.

"Regina?" he says quietly, as the end credits begin to skim.

"Mmm?"

"I didn't think you were heartless," he whispers, and she laughs between tears.

"You do know some things, then," she answers. He smiles, and holds her, and feels this funny feeling in his chest – like a little balloon, full of warm air, and it goes up.


	23. short hair

_Quick ficlet for Sarah, based on spoiler pics for 6.02.  
_

* * *

 **Short Hair**

\- _Post 5.23. Insight of Regina cutting her hair, Disney-Mulan style._

They have some quiet days, sometimes. Pieces of calm breaths where they can just _be_ , tidy themselves, before falling again into the newest threat. This day is one of those.

She has destroyed the Queen, attempted to go after Hyde with Emma, but he's flown away, in that perverted hide-and-seek he's so good at, leaving his scared half into Archie's care.

This day is one of those days, and she wakes in the morning, mind all too tied up to that time Ursula and Cruella came to town, and they had one or two days of a sensation of impending danger, and her heart was aching, as well as today.

But today is worse.

At least, that time she thought he was alive – in New York and forever lost, but alive. Today he's just forever lost, but for real.

She wakes in the morning, and it's starting to get hot in her town, and her neck is already sweaty and sticky. He used to say _You're like fire, love, always so hot_ , and she would answer _And you're always so cold, like winter wind, thief._ And he was – warm, but not too much, like a night spent camping outdoors.

Henry is at Emma's, today. Because she has insisted she was fine. Maybe, with Henry there, she wouldn't have done it. But today it's hot, her heart aches and she's not thinking straight.

She doesn't want to make a big deal of it. But it's a small ritual, something to make her feel better, so she borrows Robin's knife – she steals it, but he's not here to reclaim it anyway – and slips through morning sunrays, made of dusty light, she slips through the graveyard (avoids his grave, not yet, she tells herself), until she reaches her vault, bare feet soaked in humid grass.

And the smell is always there, and it reminds her painfully of that morning after their first time. She finds that spot submerged in light, where he has told her of her smile and of the best sleep in a very long time, and stops in her tracks.

She doesn't meet her own eyes in the mirror. Lifts the knife, and cuts. Dark locks fall swirling into the ground – her long hair, he loved to trail his fingers there, _loved_ it, he would think it's a shame – but honestly, he's gone. He's gone.

Angry tears fall with her hair, tears and rustic fragments of tresses.

The Evil Queen is gone, her soulmate is gone.

When she glares at the mirror, she doesn't recognize herself. The hair is short, a bit longer than her hair during the curse. But gone are the silky waves, and she's not the woman in love he knew anymore. She thinks he wouldn't recognize her either, because half of herself is gone.

She has the hard gaze of a warrior, now.

She's sharp like his knife, and void, and she won't cry anymore.


	24. la vie en rose

_Requested by my sweet Ayla. Happy birthday, Meghan and Sasha!_

* * *

 **La Vie en Rose**

 _\- just some OQ smut from the prompt: Person A is having a phone call with their friend/boss/relative and cannot drop the call. Person B becomes impatient and starts distracting them (nibbling their ear, kissing their neck). This leads to awkward stutters and gasps over the phone. Bonus: The person over the phone understands what's going on at the other end and tells A to "go enjoy themselves."_

Without a doubt, waking up with her husband's head between her thighs is one of the perks of marriage.

Especially because said husband has pulled her sweetly from the depths of her numb sleep, dragging her along with his touches, and she blinks just once, the air of morning already filtering through the half-opened window.

She keeps her eyes closed, a smile slowly stirring its way on her mouth, and she beams. She beams, Regina, because she is in a soft bed, the room submerged in the light of dawn, and a pleasant smell of coffee and crispy croissants unrolls until it reaches her nostrils, making her frown in pleasure.

She beams, because for once she doesn't have to worry about her town or about potentially disruptive threats, and she can enjoy her honeymoon, and focus on Robin's tongue – he's doing things to her clit, her fist goes to hold the sheets, grasping thin cotton, a soft moan exits her mouth.

Then, she feels a lack of pressure, and opens her eyes, throwing a glance towards her husband. That bastard has that smug grin painted on his lips, and he's not-so-subtly chuckling at her – and he _knows_ , oh, he knows exactly what he has done. She groans, finding into herself she half wants to kill him and half wants to fuck him until he cries for mercy.

"Why did you stop?" she asks, and he grins again, his thumb going to press on her knee and trailing up.

"Because, my love, we're going to be late," he says, placing a kiss on her leg.

"The Louvre isn't going anywhere," she protests, stretching one arm up, lands it between his hair. His hand joins hers, lacing their fingers, and he guides her down to his lips, kisses her knuckles.

"Yesterday you seemed rather impatient to finally get to see that statue… what was its name again?"

" _Amor and Psyche_ ," Regina answers, slightly distracted by his fingers brushing on her hand. "But it's still _early_ ," she pouts, escaping his hold and rolling on a side.

"Is the queen still sleepy?"

"I wouldn't be, if _someone_ hadn't insisted in keeping me up late, yesterday," she says. Well, it's not like she can complain. Three or four orgasms, she lost count, and it was _good_ , blissful, and she has felt cherished. He has kissed every inch of her body, worshipping her, and tears have prickled at the corners of her eyes, because until he came along, she wasn't used to this amount of love – selfless love.

He cocks his head, stretches his body to kiss her hair – she's curled on a side, faking annoyance because he has teased her, he has woken her up with his bloody tongue on her clit, and she's all riled up and he's using a fucking museum as an excuse not to continue.

"Go away," she grumbles. He laughs, she can't tell if he's mocking her or not, but it doesn't matter.

"Maybe we'll have some minutes before breakfast," he concedes. Regina hides a triumphant smile in her pillow, and rolls again on her side to face him.

He kisses her first, a small bite to her lower lip, followed by one of her best hisses. The sheets are all tangled, a mess of white spiral, his hand is pressed on her back, pulling her closer. It's not too hot, this morning – spring in Paris can be ungodly, but today is all chilly air and the far tune of a harmonica, from down the streets.

She's glad they've slept with opened windows; Robin has said _you can take the guy out of the forest but never the forest out of the guy_. She has accepted this small compromise, as long as she gets to sleep in a real bed and is not forced to camp somewhere in one of Paris' gardens.

She's giddy, this morning – eager, and who wouldn't be, after having been woken up in that way?

His hand slips down, no clothes to get free of, she feels the toned muscles of his forearm, sculpted by years of archery. She flinches, when one of his fingers enters her, and pushes slowly inside, his other hand tangled as always in her hair. She rewards him with a searing kiss, a silent _thank you_ for finally working to get her higher.

He whispers little nothings in her ear, _You like this?_ , she nods, doesn't answer. The way her entire body is pressing against his should tell how she feels. She has just started writhing, just slightly, nothing too powerful yet, and her phone rings.

They still, his finger inside, but he has stopped moving – and her phone rings.

Her head falls into the crook of his neck, her sigh barely audible.

"You really have to answer?" he murmurs, kissing the shell of her ear. She nods, shifting; her hand goes towards her night table. Her phone vibrates, and it's moving towards the corner, she stretches with a moan, because his finger has restarted, touching a very sensitive spot. Her eyes are hurt by the blueish light, but she squeezes them, reads the name in the morning light.

 _Mal_.

"I really have," she answers, and her heart starts pounding.

 _Shit_.

Mal wouldn't call her if it wasn't an emergency – because she's the Mayor while Regina is temporarily gone (her step-daughter is a bit busy with baby Neal, she has said, so Mal has stepped in her position, and she knows no one will dare to mess up with her). She has told Regina she will take care of the town.

Her mind is conjuring every possibility, it could be about the kids, she thinks, immediately filled with horrible images – hearts crushed, limp bodies, Roland, little Ellie, or Henry – _oh please, not the kids_.

"Answer," Robin urges. She realizes she has been staring at the phone for too long, and swipes the lock on the screen, taps the speaker so he can hear. He retires his finger, because this isn't the right time for that.

"Mal?"

"Oh, Regina," her friend's voice is clear and loud, but not in panic.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong, dear," Mal says, and she instantly relaxes, feeling Robin's body do the same. He pulls the sheets away, kisses her shoulder, lets his lips linger there. Somehow, she knows he has his eyes closed, and he's thanking all deities that the call doesn't bring bad news. Regina does the math – it's past midnight, in Maine.

"Then what is it? Do you know it's like six in the morning here?"

"Oh, ops," Mal answers, a trace of guilt in her voice. Regina breathes slowly, repeating herself _don't get mad, she's not used to the jet lag, don't get mad_. But now that the panic has gone, it has been replaced by a sort of annoyance. Especially because she was about to let her husband make her come for the fifth time in less than twelve hours. And she's a bit disappointed. Hell, she's starting to get angry.

"Mal, what is it then?"

And in that moment, she hasn't even ended her sentence – she catches a smirk in Robin's eyes, a glimpse of that devilish desire, and his finger is back inside her. She gasps. _Oh no, he didn't._

Mal is speaking over the phone, babbling something about the annual feast of Flying Fires – they have missed it, but for a good cause, like spending endless hours in a Parisian hotel room, crying out loud in each other's arms.

"And then, Roland wanted to call you, but I told him he had to go sleep, so Emma has brought him home…"

She's trying to focus. She's really, _really_ trying.

His eyes are locked to hers, she mouths a silent _please_. He shakes his head slightly, and whispers in her ear. "Focus on Mal, love," he says. _Bastard_. "And… be quiet," he instructs, moving his finger. _Oh my god_ , she thinks. Then, she narrows her eyes, and tries to listen to Maleficent again.

"…Regina?"

"Yes – _yes_ , I'm here," she says, fisting the sheets. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I said, what did you two do yesterday?"

Mal's voice is almost bored, and she can just picture her, sitting in the Mayor office, probably right on that elegant sofa where Robin has once had her screaming in pleasure – because he was drawing circles on her clit, _just like_ the ones he's drawing now, _damn it_ –

"We went – up the – Eiffel Tower, and – _ah!_ – then Notre Dame in the afternoon," she says, the heels of her feet pressing on the mattress, her body arching up. Robin has cupped one of her breasts, and she's finding it really hard to _focus_ and _be quiet_. Her hand tightens on the phone, and the jerk she has married is pinching her nipple.

"Ah, I see," Mal says, with a trace of amusement. "So, are you enjoying the honeymoon?"

Regina hisses – she literally _hisses_ , she can't help it. He has decided his finger isn't enough, and he's going down. Oh, she's _not_ going to be quiet. "Oh, yes, sure," she stumbles, quickly, before he can reach her there, "It's ama – " too late, she was already wet from before, and it takes him a second to work her up, " – _ah_ , amazing," she says. He lifts his eyes, his mouth currently occupied with lapping at her clit. She's _definitely_ going to kill him.

"Are you sure you're okay, Regina?" Mal asks, and she can almost see her lift her eyebrows and throw her a knowing smile.

"Yeah, yes – why – why wouldn't I – be okay?"

"Your voice sounds weird, dear."

Regina closes her eyes, her hand grasping the edge of the mattress. She bites her lip, choosing to delay her answer rather than to scream. He gives her a break, because he can hear it all, and he wants her to last a little longer, to torture her more and more, because she can tell he's having fun.

"Regina?"

 _Oh, Jesus Christ_.

It's Snow.

"Yeah?" she says, and if she weren't the refined queen that she is, she could scream her best selection of blasphemies to all the gods of this land and of the other. _This can't be happening._

Robin chuckles against her skin, sending a puff of warm breath between her… pulsing points, and she bites the inner of her cheek, so hard it hurts. He resumes his strokes, adding intensity and care, just in the way he knows she likes.

"Nothing, I just wanted to tell you that we miss you both," Snow says. Her surge of affection is brief and strong, but wasn't Mal enough? "But you can relax, we have everything under control."

"Oh, sure as hell I can _relax_ – " she lets out between her teeth. Robin is busy, down there – she wishes she had her magic, she could really use a poisoned apple right now – because she has said she wanted him, but not like this, not with Mal and Snow over the phone.

Oh, it _is_ good.

He has removed his tongue, and replaced it with his fingers, and he's looking at her – lifts his eyebrows, she keeps her gaze locked to his.

She's silently challenging him.

He fastens his rhythm, but when he nears his mouth to her ear, and whispers _Scream for me, love_ , she loses it.

"R-Robin," she breathes, angry, pleading, it doesn't matter, because her orgasm is coming, she can't stop it anymore. Maybe she could resist some time, but she is _definitely_ going to scream.

"Yes, dear?" Mal's mocking voice reaches her ear, and Regina just knows, Mal has understood it all – Mal knows how she sounds before an orgasm, after all.

"I – I think I – I'm gonna _com_ – I'm gonna _go_ now," she corrects herself, cursing inwardly, and Robin is openly laughing in her ear, but she'll have his skin later, she _swears_ , he can't possibly _think_ to get away with this –

"Oh, sure, you have to," Mal says, and lets out a light chuckle. "Have fun, darling – and call me, sometimes, when you're not too busy," she adds, as Regina is fighting all of her strongest wishes to scream out loud, just some more seconds. Before Mal ends the call – at this point she is sure her lips are bleeding – she gets a fragment of conversation.

"Were they…?"

"Oh, dear," Mal sighs, "of course they were."

And the phone goes silent.

 _Oh thank god._

Finally, she can ride the stars, the Milky Way and all the seven oceans, and she goes up, up, until the air of Paris is filled with the regal screams she has held for too long.

Robin's breaths slow down against her hair, she relishes the sensation of freedom – exquisite, pure freedom, air and perfume of chilly morning.

His hand caresses her shoulder; his whisper is low, sweet, _sexy_.

"Am I in trouble, Mrs Locksley?"

She turns her head, still panting, and meets his eyes. "You can't even _imagine_ how much, Mr Mills."

After all, turns out the Louvre _can_ wait.


	25. my heart will go on

_Part of a revenge plot against Sarah. Short fic about Regina's PTSD.  
_

* * *

 **My Heart Will Go On**

 _love can touch us one time  
and last for a lifetime  
and never let go 'til  
we're gone _

.

..

.

She dreams of him.

She dreams of him ever since she flies away from the tavern that night, beautiful like a broken angel. He's faceless, it's a mere presence in the deepest recess of her soul.

When she finally meets him, the pain for Henry intertwines with strange nocturnal adventures – horses, her fingers touching lightly the feathers of one arrow. Sometimes, a brush of blue eyes. Her soul is now bleeding, because she may have found her other half, but she's not ready.

When she finds him again, her dreams are red, fire, slow kisses and happiness. Her dreams are ice, glasses, mirrors, and the tiny flame of a battered page. Her dreams are pitiful pain, vodka shots, the smell of a book. Memories.

When she finds him again, her nightmares are memories. Her periwinkle dress making her beautiful, hair curled loosely on a shoulder, leaving her free, maybe this time Mother cares. Her nightmares are memories of her poisoned womb, they are nurtured from her sister's satisfied grin, and she repeats herself that it's alright, but it hurts.

She dreams, for some nights, of being someone she isn't, of being an orphan. She cries herself to sleep in a trunk, calling it home, feeling she doesn't deserve to be happy.

When she finds him again, she's brutally forced out of his arms by the ancient darkness. She wakes in his arms, in a far land, mind still full of black and gripping shadows, of black and desperate cries and a white soul tarnished to save hers. He soothes her, caresses her guilt, repeating her she can do it. It's stolen strolls, afternoon teas, and a sword. And she forgets.

When she loses him again, the shadows have stated she has to pay, and pay she does. Those nights, if she sleeps, he's there. And she doesn't know, yet – it won't last much longer. Those nights, she wakes to whispered songs, a double pair of blue eyes, and she sits next to father and daughter. She doesn't have to dream.

She dreams, in the red land of her punishment, but only once or twice. It isn't a land for sleeping. His arms are hot around her waist, her heart is fast, his heart is even faster, but they are still alive, in the red land of the dead.

When she loses him again, she doesn't sleep for days.

When she loses him again, she knows she won't have his arms around her, if she wakes screaming.

She dreams, that night. Her soul is little and scared, her soul is split, fuming, scratched.  
In her dream, they are dying in the sea. In her dream, he tries to keep her warm, to find her a way to continue, to exist. He tells her to go on, to be happy.

He presses his forehead against hers. There's urgency, a need to make her see. There's broken dreams, moments that could have been and never were.

The sea goes on fire, but he gets colder, doesn't react to her screams. There's music, far away, like a litany. The waters wash her skin. She's burning with fever, holding on to him. The fire hurls around them. And that's when the flashes of lightning start. Thunderbolts splashing all around the fallen bodies, the dead who are slowly sinking. The black waves are studded with sudden stars, pure energy.

Her fingers can't hold him anymore, and he falls. Down, instead of up – when he died, he went up, like an angel, his soul fading slowly.

He goes away, down in the depths of nothing. He saves her, in every way a person can be saved.

And she dreams. Because it's the only way she can see him again.

.

..

.

 _I'm afraid I'll never see you again.  
In the gardens of memory, in the palace of dreams. That is where you and I will meet. _


	26. heavenly blue

_Sarah requested "OQ + sensory deprivation". Enjoy some Missing Year smut, honeybun!_

* * *

 **Heavenly Blue**

"Daddy, where is Majesty?"

His son tugs lightly his sleeve and he looks down, to meet chocolate brown eyes. He bites his lip, uncertain on how to answer, because they're early for breakfast – Granny has just lined up the plates on the table, and a sleepy Ruby has just entered after a night on patrol – she brings an armful of wildflowers, light blue and violet blossoms she places in an empty vase. They're early, it's just dawn, but the Queen is usually here when the sun breaks its way in the sky. She's always earlier than them, blue shadows of sleepless nights under tired eyes.

"I don't know, son," he says, earnestly. "Maybe she's still sleeping."

"Not likely," Granny mumbles, causing him to turn his head towards her. She's poking up the fire, avoiding his eyes, as if she regrets letting the observation slip.

Robin observes her for a moment, then searches for Ruby – motions with his chin towards Roland, and the girl nods, kneels down beside the boy, and ruffles his hair. "Good morning, young man," she greets. "What do you say, want to help me making some pancakes?"

Roland's eyes lit up, a wide grin opening in a toothy smile, and he nods eagerly – Ruby laughs, offers one tempter hand, luring him away with words of syrup and blackberries.

Robin is left with Granny, who has now turned to face him. "What?" she nearly barks. He just lifts his eyebrow, crosses his arms, waiting. "Fine," she sighs. "Just don't tell her I've told you this. It's kind of, you know, _private_ ," she says. "Today's her birthday."

His eyes widen, he stays silent, waiting for her to go on.

"And… I remember her birthdays," she adds, more gently. "She used to come at the diner with her son… they'd get their usual table, and he always insisted for her to take a bit of pie with ice cream, and she always obliged, because it was important to him," she says. "So, I wouldn't… bring Roland there, today, okay? I don't think she's up for… young spirits."

He nods, "Sure, I won't," he assures. Granny nods back, and throws him a hard gaze.

"Thank you," he tells her, and she softens, then turns, reaches for a drawer – he observes as she slides it into the pie she baked yesterday evening, still untouched until now. A slice goes on a clean dish, along with two forks. "Here," Granny says. "She could use a little cheer up, that woman."

Robin has to hide the smile threatening to get out. He takes the dish, thanking her again, and exits, leaving his son with Ruby and Granny's newest pie, knowing he will be in good hands for some time.

.

..

.

He's used to the Queen rejecting him. So, her snippy _Go away,_ once he has knocked, shouldn't surprise him. Still, he knocks again, meeting silence on the other end. Sighing, he places the dish on the ground, reaches for his pocket and stumbles out a simple hair pin. The lockets are loose – he'll have to talk to her about that, he thinks.

The lock clicks, and he retrieves the pie. Her door cracks open slowly. He hears a well-known sigh of exasperation coming from the inside, chuckling, but he enters nonetheless.

She's standing in the middle of her room, arms crossed, a simple long-sleeved grey robe adjusted over her shoulder, her hair down. Her frown softens only slightly when she sees him, but flies in place again after one split second.

" _What_ are you doing here, thief?"

He shrugs, entering, totally relaxed, places the pie on her writing desk. "Just bringing you breakfast, milady," he tells her, tilting his head, studying her reaction. She rolls her eyes, adverts them.

"I wasn't hungry, today," she mumbles.

"Is there a particular reason?"

He won't push her. He already knows the reason, after all. But hell, this woman is as easy to discover as the infinite sea, so if he doesn't insist – just a little, just to have a glimmer of space – it's all he needs, a small crack, and then he knows how to enter in a secret vault – if he hadn't insisted, till now, they'd still be at the _Don't get in my way_ stage.

Finally, she meets his eyes.

"Who told you?" she asks coldly.

"Can't say," he solemnly tells her, with a hint of a smile. She doesn't take it – instead, she tightens the grip of her own hand on her forearm.

"Well, you might as well leave."

"Why?"

"Because –" she starts, fiddling with her robe, tangling the tying knot around her finger. " – because I don't have the time nor the energy to deal with you today, and –"

"You have something better to do? Like weeping over yourself?"

"I'm… I'm sorry?!" her voice rises in a high-pick, in an outraged disbelief. "I – I wasn't planning on –"

"Sure," he complies. "I don't believe you."

"Oh, is that so?" It's a low, dangerous whisper, her eyes narrowed. "Well, _thief_ , I don't want people around for this exact reason – and least I want someone like you, someone who can barely mind his own business, and never leaves me alone!"

Her words shouldn't sting, but they do. "I was merely checking on you," he says, an icy shade overwhelming the comforting words. "But since today you're so _busy_ , I'll make sure to go, _milady_." He adds a mocking curtsy, before turning on his heels, taking one first step towards the door.

And then…

"Robin… wait."

It's the use of his name, more than her request, that has him freeze on the spot. He stills, unbelieving. She used his _name_ , and from her lips it's like an apology, a mere whisper of a prayer. When she speaks again, he draws a breath.

"Make me forget."

He turns, finds her eyes again. She's holding his gaze bravely, hard as stone. Time of a heartbeat, and she has covered the distance that separates them in two steps, her hands fly up to his cheeks, and she kisses him – Regina kisses him, with a gentle pace and brushing fingers on his skin. It's hardly their first kiss, but… it's new, and sweet. She's usually more rude, almost uncaring. Then, she parts slowly, her eyes still fixated in his.

"Make me forget," she whispers again. And it's all it takes.

– § –

He's gentle, at first. His hands travel on her skin, above her grey robe, he brings her hair behind her shoulders, lets his finger trail between the dark tresses. After her last murmur, they don't speak again. He just nods, once, simply. She can't tear her eyes apart from his, she can't leave his gaze – those shining pools of blue, is it fair to have such a wonderful color for your eyes?

He's gentle – he has always been – and she doesn't want his kindness. She wants to forget she's even in this world, she wants… oblivion. Sweet, sweet oblivion, she wants to lose herself in waves of pain or pleasure and never come back.

His hands go up to her shoulders, stalling shortly, as if he needed to seek permission. She nods, he lowers her robe, reaches the lace that keeps it tied, finds the end of the knot. His fingers are quick, working the knot, he goes just there, and folds apart the fabric, revealing nude skin. She can see his gaze drop down, his mouth part slightly. He clearly didn't expect to find her bare.

Her mind is crossed by a legitimate thought – that he's wearing far too much, compared to her. Her fingers go straight to his trousers, starting to unbutton them, but his hand curl around her wrist. She lifts her gaze, confused.

"This is for you, milady," he says, low. He keeps taking care of her robe, finally sliding it down her shoulders, throwing it on a chair.

"For my purposes, you'll need to be a bit more uncovered, thief," she tells him. Honestly, he doesn't actually think he'll stay dressed, while she's already naked?

"Not yet," he says, but anyway he slides out of his boots – damn, why on hell is he even inside her rooms with his boots on – at least he removed his cape, least dirtying the floor with leaves and who knows what else – but these thoughts are not so important anymore, because he has cupped her cheeks, kissing her. Softly, at first, simple pecks meant to soothe her. She's about to tell him – she _needs_ to tell him, she doesn't want _softness_ , she needs –

– _oh_ –

– when he takes another pace entirely, quicker, his tongue darting in her mouth, the kiss becomes free and – passionate, since when she's _passionate_ with the thief?

While he's distracted, her hand goes down again, finally managing to unbutton his trousers. She'd forgotten how unpractical they were, the Enchanted Forest clothes. He leaves her body to help her, finally tugging the trousers down. He's in his shirt now, sharing open-mouthed kisses. Regina shivers, not from the cold, even if it's one of the coldest days of the years. His hand is now on her skin again, and it's magnificent how warm it is, pressing on her back.

She parts from the kiss, for a moment – just the time for a whisper, _Come to bed_ , pulling him from his shirt. They take the step they still have left from the bed, and Regina pushes him towards the mattress – maybe _finally_ he catches her eagerness, because he drags her along. She nearly falls above him, and he lets out a little _oof_ that has her chuckling.

"And who exactly told you I was okay with you being on top, milady?" he says, lips at four inches from her face.

She pins her hand on the mattress, steading herself. "I'll have you know, it's _your Majesty_ , and _that_ is why I am on top," she smirks, satisfied.

"Oh, I see," he nods, serious. "But I seem to recall you told me something about… making you forget?" His hand, now, has found her back, a solid and warm presence.

Regina diverts her eyes – now she has remembered what she wanted to forget, _wonderful_ , but he doesn't let her indulge in these thoughts. "Sorry," he says – somehow she knows he means it. His fingers go up and down on her spine, now, sending electrifying, _pleasing_ jolts of a promising something in the nearest future. His other hand finds her chin, making her meet his gaze. "I have to ask you something, Regina," he says. He doesn't use her name, he never uses it. He knows she doesn't want to hear it, but sometimes – very special occasions, like this one… sometimes she lets him.

"What is it," she whispers. His eyes are so close, burning her soul…

So close…

"Do you trust me?" he questions.

She's taken aback – a little surprised.  
 _Yes_ , it's the first thing that her heart roars. _I don't know if I can_ , her mind bites back. He lets her ponder the question, still breathing her in. Finally, she resolves for another question. "Do I trust you… with what?"

"It'd be a bit much to say _with your life_ , wouldn't it?" he smiles. "I meant… here, right now, to make you forget."

The answer slips out before she can stop it. "Yes."

He visibly relaxes, trailing restless paths on her skin. She feels oddly comforted, and… safe. _Safe?_

"Good."

She clears her throat, embarrassed – they aren't used to this… intimacy. "Then… what do you have in mind?"

He cocks his head, watching her, then rises his arms together, pushing her gently. She gets it, he wants her lying on the mattress – crumples the sheets apart, following his guidance, and they flip, and now he's watching her from a different angle.

She finds being on top… reassuring. To her, it means having control of the situation. After her… marriage, she has never let someone above her, nor her knights, or the huntsman. No one. But she trusts him. Of all the times they've been in bed together, he's always let her take control, never pushing her. This turn of events is something new, something they have yet to discover. Is she ready to let him take the reins?

"Close your eyes, love," he says.

That's it. If she does it, there's no coming back.  
She does it.

 _Love_ , she thinks. When they're together like this, he always calls her _love_. She knows it's a mere term of endearment, she's never stopped asking herself if it's more to him, she doesn't want it to be more. She keeps her eyes closed, hearing him fiddle with something around her. One caress on her skin, every now and then. It's taking every ounce of her willingness not to open her eyes, but she forces herself to wait. Be patient.

She feels, instead.

His weight lifts from the bed – then comes back, with a creek of the bed's wooden structure. She smiles by herself, _not so sneaky for a thief_ , and then freezes. It's the unfamiliar caress of something on her skin – silk? Velvet?

Still, she keeps her eyes closed. "What is that?" she enquiries, her heartbeat fastening.

"Just something to help you relax," he says. She feels his hand sliding under her head, his lips pressed for a moment on her brow. The silken material is trailing above her face – softly, slowly. Now, he's lifting her head, and she lets him, he passes it under her nape, then moves away some hair from her eyes before tying the knot.

And she's blind.

She shouldn't be _this_ aroused from being blindfolded, but she is.

The silken scarf he has chosen is blue – there's no way to see what's happening, now. She presses her thighs together, a bit uncomfortable, feeling his fingers on her cheek.

"You okay?" he asks, checking on her. She bites her lip, _oh, gods_ , she's not used to this, he's terribly kind and _hot_ and they're not like _this_ , not usually, they're angry and sassy and always fighting, he shouldn't be so gentle when all she has ever done was pushing him away –

"Regina?"

"Mmm, yes," she mumbles. "Yes, it's… weird, but… I like it," she says. Well, it's true. Still, he leans on – another creek of the bed – to kiss her lips. "I trust you won't remove the scarf, milady," he tells her, and she can feel his scent, his breath above her skin.

"Okay, thief," she sighs, pretending to be annoyed.

She's not – she's starting to get wet, down there, _damn it_. And him being in control means she has no way to see what he's doing, to get him to do certain things. "What are you waiting for?" she asks, closing her fist. His hand is on her thigh, now, fingers going up and down. He pushes her apart, slowly, making her spread her legs. Oh, that's better.

She can feel him – his slow breaths, his slow strokes, everything is so slow, it's driving her mad. He leaves her skin for a second – then she feels him again, his mouth, more precisely, kissing her thighs. He draws a path of kisses, while his hands are busy in other ways. She squeezes her eyes shut, it doesn't make any difference, but she can feel. She feels his lips, sometimes of a feather-touch, sometimes wet and pressing, and his hands are everywhere. His fingers circle her nipple, giving a light squeeze, and she is feeling he's coming up, he's reaching – he's reaching that point, she can –

He stops, he lifts everything, and he isn't touching her anymore. Her hand wants to fly up to her blindfold – she wants it so much. "What are you doing?"

"Patience, milady," he instructs. Another sound of sheets moving, of him getting up. Oh, gods, he can't do that, work her up and then leave. She writhes a little, searching for friction, and she thinks he didn't say anything about her own hands. She bites her lip – if she were able to see, she'd spy on him, to control if she could easily sneak one finger inside of herself and relieve some pressure – oh, to hell, she thinks, lifting her hand, finally landing it there. She has just found the source of her needs, when his hand closes around hers. She gasps in surprise, because he is moving her fingers away.

"Not yet," he says, sounding amused. She smiles, she'd lift her eyebrow if she could.

Then, he's going to lie next to her again. "I thought we could make good use of your birthday gift, while we're at it," he tells her. _What?_

It becomes clear, after a mere second – a cold sensation on her stomach, a weird, splashing material, dripping substance in fat drops. "It's whipped cream," he informs her, oh, it probably was with the pie. His lips are back on her skin, where he has splayed the wet cream. He kisses her, then lifts his mouth, moves, and lands again on her mouth, and she can taste the cream and his scent. He kisses her, slowly, mingling breaths and cream, it's so nice, his hand is toying with her nipple, her eyes closed.

She's so lost in his kisses – the whipped cream tastes good, his other hand is between her hair, down to her shoulder, to her arm – that she doesn't notice he has stopped with her breast, until he reaches her _there_.

She's almost startled, for a second, when he cups her wetness, sliding one finger along it, but then she rises slightly her hips to meet _more_ of him, more, she needs more, she has for some time now.

"You're so wet already?" he says, cockily – she lifts one hand to reach for his hair, tugs him towards her. "Shut up and touch me," she hisses, hearing his low chuckle, but he finally starts stroking her, finally, damn it, goes to kiss her, his finger sinking deeper, her hips fastening their rhythm. It's torturing, now, because she can't see him. _Faster_ , she murmurs, her legs growing weaker, and she can feel it coming, and it's intense.

His hand finds her clit, pressing there – she has had the urge to add her fingers, but now she doesn't need them anymore, he's putting the right amount of pressure, up and down, she bites her lip, _harder!_ , she nearly screams. It's amazing, what he can do with one – now two fingers, how he can mold her, making her come apart. She can't see him, but who cares, she can already feel the first zinging waves coming up her legs.

"Oh, please!" she moans brokenly, she's so close – she can feel it, her thighs are shaking – he follows her, fastening, then she feels him moving – _no, not now_ , she roars inwardly, outraged – but he's not abandoning her, he's just adding that final touch. His mouth is on her clit, sucking, one more second – she's up, finally, with strangled moans and those unbelievably perfect buzzes of release and electricity, _yes!_ She reaches the top, and slowly descends, slowly, her hand going to slower his own – she can't take any more pressure there, or she'll die – has anyone ever died of an orgasm?

She breathes loudly, pants, almost, coming back in the land of the living, feels his hand on her forehead, then down, he lifts her blindfold. She keeps her eyes closed, not used to the light yet. "You okay?" he asks, as he did at the beginning, and she would laugh, right now. "More than okay," she tells him, finally blinking once or twice. The light is… manageable, his features still a bit confused, but she's already getting used to it.

He's scrutinizing her, she thinks, watching her carefully. "I'm fine," she repeats. He smiles, then, brushes her cheek.

"Did it work, then? The forgetting strategy?"

"Quite," she confirms. "But we still have _that_ one to take care of," she says, motioning at his hardness, but he shakes his head. "Later," he says. "This was for you."

He finds her eyes again – now it occurs to her, he _loves_ to watch her face when she comes, so this whole blindfold thing has been quite the sacrifice on his part. So, she says it.

"Thank you."

She says it, meeting his smile halfway with one of hers, feeling his fingers again between her hair. "Happy birthday, Regina," he answers. She scoffs a laugh, _it's not bad, this birthday, until now_ , she thinks. Chooses to focus on the good things of today.

"Is there any pie left?"


	27. black as night, hot as hell

_Based on the prompt "I tell my friends I come to the cafe you work at because they have the world's greatest milkshakes but i love the little notes you leave me scrawled on napkins every time you take my order and you smile at me like the sun from across counter tops". For Clare._

* * *

 **Black as night, hot as hell**

She likes this place. Really, she does. Cozy armchairs, good coffee, wobbly old tables and a quiet ambiance. She likes this place and she's here to _work_ , damn it. She's here to write, and it doesn't matter if the place is so comfortable, she should get a grip and finish proof-reading this article before sending it to her editor.

She hears him before seeing him.

"Your usual?"

Regina looks up, and – oh. He's already here with a trail, full of – coffee, and pastries, and deliciously-looking goodies.

She smirks, doesn't resist. "I was told you should _take_ an order before actually bringing the food," she tells him. _Cheeky_.

"Oh, it's not for you," he informs her. Points to a table, not so near. "It's for that lovely group of lovely old ladies."

"It's a shame I'm not old nor lovely, then," she points out. He just grins, before asking her again if she wants the usual.

.

.

The first note comes like this, during that afternoon in late summer. It's scribbled on a napkin, just right under her cup of tea. (Yes, it's September and it's time for tea. Autumn red tea, smelling of fruits and strolls in the woods.)

It says _You're not old, but you surely are lovely_.

She blushes – she can't help it. Glances up – he's turned towards the alcohol bottles, neatly aligned on the back of his counter. She smiles to herself, then rushes to look down before he can actually spot her face.

.

.

They keep coming, the notes. The next one is served along with a pancake (it's cherry jam and vanilla ice cream, this time.) It says _Cherry to sweeten a hard day?_

And she thinks it's weird, because he's always so… professional, around here, and she wonders if he writes notes to all the women who come here.

He laughs, when she asks. His smile, the only answer.

.

.

It's been a crappy day – her umbrella has broken on her way here, when she enters she's soaking wet – not in the good sense – and a bit snappy. He brings her hot water with lemon, offers some whiskey for curative purposes, and goes away before she has the chance to read his note.

 _It can't rain forever_.

She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her lips tugs up.

.

.

One day, Emma insists on accompanying her to the bar – she's not so enthusiast about it, because she has come to think of it as… _her_ place, somehow. A quick swirl of anxiety comes, when he approaches their table – Emma goes for _A coffee and a piece of cake, with more chocolate as possible_ , please, then proceeds trying to find the toilet.

And Emma misses the brush of his fingers on Regina's hand, when he leaves with their order – the cake and Regina's almost shy _Just a tea, today, thanks_.

But Emma has the sneaky hands of a thief, because she takes the note he brings with a monstrous velocity.

" _I have to admit, it's weird to see you with someone. But even if she'll pay more than you, you're still my favorite customer._ Oooh," she grins, like the Cheshire Cat. Regina brings one hand up to her forehead, thinking that she might die of mortification right now, and it wouldn't be enough. _Oh my god, I'll kill him barehanded._

"Regina, you have a suitor," Emma says, stating the obvious. "It's so mushily _cute_."

"It's embarrassing, not cute," she cuts in. "Now eat the cake, and hush."

"Has he asked you out?"

"Emma."

Her friend lifts an eyebrow. "For how long has this… notes-thing continued?"

Regina frowns. "Three months?"

Emma's eyebrow rises even more. She takes the fork, starts poking at the Sacher. "You know what to do, then."

.

.

When the first snow falls, she does it. Before the courage abandons her, rips out a page from her Moleskine, scribbles her number on it, and folds it. Then gets up, gathering her purse, and nears the counter.

She hands him a handful of changes, with the little paper, and runs away before he can even start opening it.

She's just around the corner – trying to envelop her wool scarf around her neck – when her phone rings.


	28. of late nights

_From the prompt: You're always at the university library at 3am because it's the only time you can focus hello hi same here. For Sophia._

* * *

 **Of Late Nights**

She's beautiful.

He keeps glancing at her, and she's beautiful.  
He's entranced by the small things. The way she bites her lower lip. How she brings the pencil to her mouth. How a lock of hair falls just near her eyes, and she keeps trying to replace it behind her ear, and it falls again. A small huff, every now and then. Crossing legs, scratching her forearm, rubbing her neck.

 _Focus_ , he repeats to himself. _Focus_.

But the words he's reading are skimming in front of his eyes.

 _There are four main types of arrhythmia: extra beats, supraventricular tachycardias, ventricular arrhythmias, and bradyarrhythmias. Extra beats include premature atrial contractions and premature ventricular contractions. Supraventricular tachycardias include atrial fibrillation, atrial flutter, and paroxysmal supraventricular tachycardia._

Another glance. She's stretching her arms – she does that, sometimes. A small yawn, she passes her fingers through her hair.

And he still doesn't know her name.

 _There are four main types of arrhythmia: extra beats, supraventricular tachycardias, ventricular arrhythmias, and bradyarrhythmias._

It's three in the morning, and the last one of the students has just lifted the last one of his books and grabbed his coat, and he's exiting, and they're alone.

This may be his favorite time of the day. When he gets to stay with her a bit longer, and to see her open her thermos and drink – is it coffee or tea? He doesn't know.

He leans on his hand with his head, squeezing his eyes. _Focus_.

 _There are four main types of arrhythmia…_

–

"Hey?"

Someone is gently shaking his arm. He blinks, closes and opens his eyes – his vision is a little blurry right now, so he entrusts his other senses. The wonderful cloud of perfume that is surrounding him. The warmth of the hand on his skin.

He blinks again. It's _her_. And – _god_ , she's even more beautiful when she smiles.

"Sorry for waking you up," she whispers, amused. He rubs his eyes, scrolls his head a little.

"No, it's okay, thank you," he says, feeling that his own cheek are about to flush in embarrassment. She tilts her head, studying him.

"I think you need a good sleep," she decides. "Anyway, it's almost four, so… we should exit from here, it's about to close."

 _Four?_

He nods, with one last glance at her, shuts his book close. She's already dressed up – black coat, a fluffy white scarf and leather gloves, holds her books close to her stomach. She's waiting, he realizes – she could have gone already, after waking him up, but she's waiting. He rushes to collect his things, grabbing his coat and standing up. She smiles again, turns, and he follows her outside.

It has started raining – it's only natural what comes after, when she sees he hasn't got an umbrella, and clutches her fingers around the handle of hers.

"Where are you staying?" she asks, frowning when he gives her the address. "Well, there's no way I'll let you walk with this rain…"

"I'll be fine," he assures. But she not convinced, she glances at the end of the street, and her eyes lighten up. "Come on," she says, pulling him for a sleeve, and he fastens his arm under hers. They start walking – the rain hits her umbrella with surprising violence. She leans a bit against his body, and he would give _anything_ to have the right to pass an arm around her shoulders, right now, to press a kiss on her temple while they walk…

"I don't even know your name," she muses, and he chuckles. "Don't say it yet," she stops him. "It's more fun like this."

He nods, then remembers she can't see him, and whispers _Okay_.

–

When they enter, the café is practically deserted. It's one of those weird places, almost impossible to find, but it's a good business near the university – on Saturdays, it opens at eleven, closes at seven in the morning, and hosts loads of students after the nocturnal shenanigans of dancing nights at the nearest club.

He thinks they're weird, the two of them – spending a Saturday evening with their noses above a book instead of hanging out.

His beautiful companion motions for him to go sit – she plunges the umbrella down in the stand, and nears the counter. When she comes back with two cups of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies, he finds himself much more awake. He scoops in the little bench, lets her sit.

"Thank you," he says, taking one sip – feels the warm liquid pouring down and reconnecting his synapsis, lets out a satisfied moan that has her smiling. "Better?" she asks. When he nods, she takes her own mug, blows lightly and drinks.

–

He's staring.

He wouldn't know how to describe it otherwise. He's staring, and he's mesmerized, by the way she is looking at him, by the tiny drops of rain between her hair, by the way her fingers are touching her books, neatly piled on a corner of their table.

 _Criminal Law_ , the one at the top says. _Private International Law_ , the other one.

"So, what brings you in the library every night?" he asks. Maybe it's not the best of ice breakers, but she smiles, tells him of her sister – Emma's a teen mom, and her nephew… well, he doesn't like to sleep, he's teething – he cries a lot, and well, she likes the quiet.

Then it's his turn, he tells her of his double life – life at the hospital in the mornings, for his internship, and in the library at night – he still has some exams left before graduating, and maybe it's the exhaustion, but he tells her he left _Obstetrics and gynecology_ to do –

The laugh that follows, he will never forget it.

She throws her head behind, her shoulders shaking, heartfelt hiccups coming from deep down her belly, and… he falls in love.

Just like that.

He will have time, he thinks, to discover her name, or to bring her to the movies, or… just kiss her. For now, he watches her laugh, a tiny smudge of chocolate at the corner of her lips, and it's enough.


	29. of late nights - scene II

_Since someone asked for a second part of Chapter 28 - here you go! Sorry for any mistakes, but it's 1am and I'm sleepy too ;)_

* * *

 **Of Late Nights (Scene II)**

He sees her again.

That night, when it has stopped raining, it was six in the morning, and she waved him goodbye with a small yawn and sleepy eyes. And he has called after her – without knowing her name, he's had to use a stupid _Hey!_ , feeling like an idiot. But she has turned, with a swirl of her dark hair. She has turned, and smiled.

He has asked for her number, that night.

 _No names yet_ , she has grinned, and typed the numbers. He has saved her contact under _The girl with the white scarf._

He gives her his number, and he sees her again. The circumstances a bit different, though; nothing like the quiet night they've spent together – it's him stumbling out from the shower, grabbing his phone with still-wet fingers, and answering.

"Hello?"

"Hi," she sounds… different, he can't quite place why. "Do I bother you?"

"No, it's okay," he says, the water pooling down, gathering at his feet. "Are you alright?"

Silence falls for a moment, and she sighs. "Actually, no," she says. "I mean, yes, but, you see, it's not me, it's –" she's stuttering, and now he can hear it – she's probably on the verge of tears, his heart clenches. "– it's just that my parents are abroad right now, and my sister is out of town for a week, comes back tomorrow night, and she left me with my nephew, and he's teething and won't stop crying – and I have an exam tomorrow and I don't know – sorry – because I know you study medicine, and I think he could have a fever but I'm not sure, and –"

"Hey, calm down," he tells her, rushing to grab the towel, putting her on the speaker and starting to get dressed. "It's alright, you've gotta breath, okay?"

He hears her breath from over the phone, hears her inhale and exhale, to steady herself. "Yeah, okay, just – I'm sorry, I didn't know who else I could call, Emma didn't leave the doctor's number –"

"It's okay," he says, grabbing the phone again. He keeps talking, hopes to calm her down. But there's only one way to solve the problem. "Listen, I'm coming there, if you want, okay?"

There's a pause – a heartbeat, but it feels longer. "Okay, thanks," she murmurs. "I'll text the address."

After one minute, he's already outside.

–

He knocks at the door – it's a nice house, in the center, elegant and classy and all that stuff, but he knows it must feel rather empty, if it's only her and the baby. She opens in seconds, lets him inside, and he greets her with a mere squeeze on her forearm – it's all business now, she's already leading him into the baby's room. He doesn't even take in his surroundings; he just bends over the crib and starts watching the crying infant.

"I've tried giving him some Tylenol, but… oh my god, I'm completely clueless," she admits, murmuring next to him. He turns his head – she's biting her lip, and he would very much like to kiss that scowl away.

"Go study, I've got him," he tells her. Her eyes widen, then she shakes her head. "You've already come here, I don't want to trouble you –"

"Exactly, I'm already here, so go study and let me do my job," he says. "Come on, I haven't got a shift tomorrow, I don't have to wake up early."

She nods, with a worried smile. He sees she's not convinced yet, so he gives her a gentle push. "Go, I'm serious."

Finally, she complies – one last look towards him and the baby, and she's gone.  
He draws out a sigh. Turns towards the baby, tilts his head. "So, little one, let's see."

–

When he comes in the kitchen, it's midnight, and he has just left a sleeping baby, finally quiet. He rubs his eyes, letting out a yawn, then spots her. A chuckle escapes him – he can't avoid it, she's absolutely adorable. She's sitting on a chair, her head lying on the table above one arm, her book open next to her nose, and she's sleeping soundly.

He shakes her shoulder, gently – she has done the same just two weeks ago, he thinks – she blinks, confused, then sees him. "Oh," she smiles. "I fell asleep…"

"Come on, let's get you to bed," he whispers. Her head is lolling, but she complies – manages to get up, and leans on him a bit. When they get to her room, he sees that she's exhausted – she falls on the bed, sleep is reclaiming her.

He can't resist, and he presses a kiss on her hair, just on top. He thinks she's asleep, but she clearly isn't – because she smiles. Curls a bit tighter, and turns her head.

"Thank you," she says, voice heavy with tiredness. He doesn't answer, but caresses her head instead. He's about to head back to the other room – he'll sleep on the sofa, he has decided, to check on the baby and wake her up in the morning – when he hears her.

"Oh, and… it's Regina."

He stops in his tracks. "What?"

"My name," she says. "I'm Regina."

His heart flutters, watching her curled form with affection. "Nice to meet you, Regina," he lets it roll on his tongue. "I'm Robin."

"'ice to meet you," she mimics. He scoffs a laugh – she's practically asleep, now, and she probably won't remember this conversation in the morning, but it's okay. He closes the door, silently, and lets her sleep. They'll have all the time to introduce each other.


	30. cafuné

**Cafuné**

 _\- from Portuguese,_ _the act of tenderly running your fingers through the hair of someone you love_. _Post 6.01._

 _._

 _Another day, another life  
Passes by just like mine  
It's not complicated _

_Another mind, another soul  
Another body to grow old  
It's not complicated_

 _Do you ever wonder if the stars shine out for you?  
_

 _._

It's the middle of autumn, when Roland inquires about it. It's the season of crispy leaves and rays of sunshine between the golden trees which surround the castle. It's the season of muddy puddles, of hot chocolate and pumpkins and, maybe, a light brush of _his_ fingers on her cheek, when she watches the sunset and cries.

It's the middle of autumn, and they are in the library, skimming through old fairy tales and dusty scrolls. It's the middle of autumn, and Roland doesn't know that this was her son's favorite season.

"Majesty, what is that necklace?"

She turns her head at him, her lips parting slightly. Her hand reaches for the small medallion, opening it in front of the boy's curious eyes. Inside, there's a picture – seeing it sends a sharp pang of pain across her chest. Henry smiles, in the oval picture. "It's my son, sweetheart."  
Roland nods knowingly, gravely. His tiny finger points towards the necklace. "And what are those?"

Regina looks at the right half of the medallion. "Well, you see," she says. "One day, it was just in this period of the year… he was starting school, and he wanted to cut his hair to look older," she smiles, remembers her little toddler insisting that _Mom, I really need to cut it, really, can I, please?_

She brushes her finger above the frame, where a small tuft of Henry's hair is nestled.

.

They're in Camelot, when another lock of hair goes to join Henry's. This time, it's late spring, there are lilacs and roses on the balcony, and Regina is helping Roland with his bath.

"Are you my mama now, R'gina?"

Her hands freeze still, her mouth parts in an unknown stupor. "Oh, sweetie…"

Roland is oblivious of her surprise, he keeps babbling happily. "Because, I asked Henry yesterday, and he told me he was okay with sharing, anyway he has two moms so he said I could have two moms too… then I've asked Princess Snow about the things a mama does and she told me all this list…" his nose scrunches up adorably, when he stops to think. "Yes, and she said things like… she tells you stories and protects you and hugs you when you're scared of the storm…"

Her eyes are watery, now.

Her fingers run across the untamable mop of curly hair, and she nods.

.

Summer is in its full splendor, when they come back. He caresses her back, in the tired, glowing aftermath of love – her hand brushing his cheek, her eyes won't leave his face, she has to make sure he's still here – that he didn't leave with the Fury, that he's alive and breathing and safe.

"Penny for your thoughts," he whispers. She shakes her head, tears begin to build their way into her eyes. He seems to understand, because he goes to kiss her hair, pressing his lips there as a confirmation – he's not going anywhere, he's there.

Later that night, she can't sleep.

Silent, like a bandit, she smiles in the dark, as little silvery scissors cut just the rim of his hair.

Later that day, she proudly shows him the fruits of her labor – standing beside the bed, he looks at her medallion that now holds the mingled hair of her men, and the almost-invisible baby hair of her niece – he grins, and closes it. "Look at who's the thief now," he says. She laughs, goes to kiss him, but he pushes her with one single move, both falling on the bed – oh she laughs, careless, _happy_.

.

And it's almost winter, almost.

Her soul is cold and half-empty. Her heart is red, her dark half is missing.

 _I want to start a new story_.

That night, after bidding goodbye to Snow, she heads home. Cold fingers, cold hands, she finds relief in the bathtub, lavender and rose soap. She dries her hair, slowly, taking her time, counting every breath. It's long, now.

He used to love it.

He used to trail his fingers there, when he kissed her. To curl and uncurl it, lazily, lying in bed. To wash it – massaging her scalp, when they took a shower together. He was… he was enamored by her hair.

At his funeral, she has worn her hair up. Because now he's gone.

Obliterated.

The worst part is, she can still feel the ghost of his touch. Of his kisses, of his loving words.  
She replaces the hairdryer down, and looks in the mirror. It's wonderful – all wavy and soft, bright, curled.

A drawer opens.

 _I want to start a new story_.

Silver shadows fly, and cut, and change. Dark locks twirl, falling slowly, down. When she lifts her gaze again, she's changed. Renewed.

When she falls asleep that night – _cold bed, cold sheets_ – there's a new strand in her medallion. Their hair intertwine, for a second – they shine of red and yellow. But her eyes are closed, and she doesn't see.


	31. night of charms

_For Sasha, from some HP prompt: "Tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?"_

* * *

 **Night of Charms**

He's moved in since a few days. He's finally, _officially_ filled her – _their_ – wardrobe with his clothes, his toothbrush next to hers in the bathroom, his aftershave rests just behind her favorite perfume. They thought they could use a quiet evening, just the two of them – earlier that evening, it was pizza night with the kids, a solemn play date made special by Roland's request of ice cream, and Henry has keenly introduced his almost-step-brother to _Harry Potter_.

They have watched the first one – Regina has regally conceded the use of the living room – _"If I find a single, minuscule stain of mozzarella or tomato on the couch, you know I can find out who's responsible. Be_ extremely _careful, all of you"_ – and Roland has immediately declared that he absolutely needs a wand.

By the time Gryffindor wins the House Cup, the kids' eyes begin to get heavy – but Regina is, well, a little _distracted_ by her boyfriend's skilled fingers, trailing paths on her arm, to pay attention to her son – Henry changes the DVD; Dobby splashes a creamy cake on Mrs Mason's coiffed hair, and Robin is kissing her hair and whispering in her ear, but when she _notices_ …

"Henry!" she hisses. Her chin motions towards Roland, now fast asleep, sitting on the floor, his head pillowed above the couch's cushions. "Another one? I think that's enough for tonight, honey, don't you?"

Her son's guilty smile tells her everything she needs to know – he leans in for the remote, stopping the movie right in the middle of Harry's breakfast at the Burrow. He winks, before gently shaking Roland's arm and luring him towards the bed – and it's incredible how the littlest one just _accepts_ to go, without putting up a fuss.

"Well, the kids are gone – you'd rather stay here, or… move to the bedroom?" Robin whispers, causing her lips to curve upwards in a smile.

"I think," she starts, shifting to face him, her hand exiting from the warm blanket to go up to his cheek, "I think we should… _inaugurate_ … our nest upstairs," she decides. "Let me tuck the boys in, first?"

They keep the bedroom for a later hour – for now, it's glowing candles and soapy bubbles, when they sink together in the bath tub, her back pressed against his stomach, and she sighs contently, relishing the feeling of the warm water and his arms around her waist.

"You know," he whispers, lips dangerously near to her ear. "I still want to finish the movie, tomorrow."

She closes her eyes, inclines her head so that it rests in the crook of his shoulder. "Why's that?"

"Well, your son certainly loves cliffhangers," he explains. "Perhaps you can clarify a doubt? So that I don't have to wait for the answer?"

"Mmm… I'll do my best," she answers, lazily.

He smiles against her hair. "Well tell me, then… what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?"

Regina opens her eyes, turning slightly her head, with a questioning look. She follows his amused gaze, and spots the trigger of his question – Henry's old yellow duck, forgotten on the floor after Roland's afternoon bath. "When Ron's dad has asked, I've realized I don't know either," he explains.

She keeps her eyes on the plastic objects, thinking. He continues, "So, I've realized there's still so much of this world that I don't know," he says, a trace of sadness in his voice. She shifts in his arms, in the water, uncomfortable – she won't have that, him thinking he doesn't fit in her world – she feels guilty, because she has brought them all here again, ripping them from the forest, from their home…

"Hey," he says, tracing her features carefully with his gaze. "It's okay, I'll have time, love. I'll have _you_ during the journey," he smiles, meeting her eyes. She shakes away her thoughts, pushes with a knee against the hard ceramic and turns to face him completely.

They don't speak – they look at each other – and as if they had the same, instantaneous thought, they lean in, together, their lips meet halfway, and when they part, their foreheads touch briefly.

"You know what, thief?" she whispers, eyes closed, nearing her mouth to his ear. Her lips go to kiss his jaw, she can feel his breath on her skin, on her shoulder.

"I don't have a bloody clue about rubber ducks."


	32. rougher than the rest

_Written for OQ Rough Smut Week, day 7: Halloween._

* * *

 **Rougher Than The Rest**

 _Well it's Saturday night,  
You're all dressed up in blue, _

_I've been watching you awhile,  
Maybe you've been watching me too…_

.

.::.

.

He should have seen it coming.

His wife's temper – it drives him mad – has always been one of the entrancing, fascinating details of her, but hell, he's always been more than capable of handling it.

Tonight, though, right before they left for the party, they were yelling in the bedroom – it's been a while since their last fight, and her wrath mounts and mounts and finally explodes, and of course it had to be _precisely_ before of the Halloween party, _of course_. Words have cut and bruised, coming not only from her, but also from him – he has seen her close to tears, her carefully applied make-up melting just a bit.

" _Fine_ ," she has said at the end, and he has watched, horrified, as her well-tested, cold mask of disdain slipped into place. "As much as I'd like to keep going, we have a place to go to. If you want to keep throwing a fuss, I suggest we rain check, _thief_."

He has opened his mouth, like a fool, but the door has slammed, and right after one second he has heard her, downstairs, listing recommendations to Henry and Violet – about Roland, and the baby, and something concerning pizza and a movie. She's stormed outside; he's gone after her, throwing a quick goodbye to the kids. Henry's concerned frown was immediately burned into his retina.

So yes, he should have seen it coming. After all, damn it, she has spent something like forty years trying to destroy her step-daughter, he knew that some not-so-buried part of her likes _revenge_ so much. She's good at it.

Revenge, is Regina leaning on the counter, in the very spooky and festive Main Room of the Town Hall. Revenge, is Regina sometimes throwing looks at him – as she flirts with _Jefferson_ , of all people.

That, and the dress she is wearing.

It doesn't help him, for sure.

She's refused to wear one of her dresses as the Evil Queen – those black, or royal blue, or crimson red garments that he's come to cherish during their escapades, during the Missing Year. Because she wanted _a normal dress, Robin, for once, thank you so much_ , but bloody hell – the _effect_ – the effect is equally arousing.

She looks like a lady, every bit regal and composed as always, with one of those long dresses, imperial-style, he believes… it hugs her body as if it has directly been modelled from her curves.

And Jefferson looks at her cleavage more than at her eyes.

He's _fuming_ , from his corner.  
He's surprised his glass hasn't shattered yet.

He knows she isn't drunk yet – that her game is perfectly controlled, every ounce of flirting carefully pondered, addressed at the other man, but directed towards him like one of his arrows. He wonders, for a second, if Jefferson is aware of this – but he must be. He bets she has whispered in the Hatter's ear something like _Back me up on this, will you?_

She laughs at one of his sentences – her hand placed on his forearm, her hair cascading down the light blue fabric of the dress, and the flying veils tied to her sleeves undulating lasciviously. Jefferson's black cloak – but seriously, how can you think of dressing up as a _vampire_ in this godforsaken town – is draped on his arm, and Robin observes while Regina nods, laughing, folding the cloak apart.

Then, he _loses_ it.

Because his wife – his _love_ , she is inclining her neck, offering it – he is sure Jefferson has proposed to bite her neck with his plastic, fake teeth.

But before his mouth can even start getting closer to her – he slams the glass on the table, approaches them, clearing his throat. Regina turns her head towards him, slowly, with a wicked grin on her lips.

"I believe you can find some other lady to bite, mate," he spits out, between gritted teeth. Jefferson cocks his head, lifts his eyebrows, and gets up, but Robin doesn't miss the knowing, satisfied smile he throws Regina.

He is _angry_. Worse, he's _furious_.

"Are you done?" she says, almost bored, checking her baby-blue painted nails.

"Not quite," he growls, in a low voice. "Are _you_?"

She throws a look at him – that damned smile again, just a tug of her lip up, on a corner. She _knows_ , she knows exactly what she's done… she leans in, towards him, her hand sneaking on his waist. "What's the matter, dear? Can't stand someone touching your _stuff_? It's rather… hypocrite, coming from a thief, don't you think?"

He narrows his eyes – and then, despite his best efforts to resist, he covers the distance, cups her cheek – kisses her, almost violently, he doesn't think he's ever been this rude with her – but she moans against his mouth, and that hand of hers goes down, like a lurking serpent. Her smile against his lips tells everything – she's deeply amused to find him hard, all hot and bothered already.

He kisses her, again, he doesn't stop, she lets out another deep, sultry moan. They are practically standing up, now, making out in front of everyone, where anyone could see her hand on his hardness, despite the dark and psychedelic atmosphere.

"I prefer to think it's hypocrite of _you_ , to try and make me jealous," he answers, dragging her closer. "But then, you're such a _refined_ lady, aren't you?"

She scoffs – her forehead is touching his, their breaths mingling in quick pants. "Don't _toy_ with me, dear," she warns.

Isn't it what she just did?

Oh, it's time for fair play. And judging by the way her body is pressing against him, he thinks she's up to it. He's still furious – and hurt, and jealous, and so in love it pains him – he's all of those things together, so he bends down to whisper in her ear. "I plan to do something better, honestly," he murmurs. "Take us home, and I'll fuck you so _hard_ – that in the end you _will_ apologize, _your majesty_."

The grin that follows – is pure _lust_.

Smoke surrounds them, and they're back in their bedroom.

– § –

They're onto each other in seconds – he has no time to waste, that is for sure. She feels him – his hands pressed on her shoulders, closing like a pair of pincers, there's no escaping. He's holding her, tightly so, and she thinks that if he were another man – any man, who dared to touch her like this, she'd have snapped his neck by now.

But it's him, it's Robin – it's someone she trusts, _and_ someone who has made her angry in the past few hours, she couldn't care less of bruises – even if –

"W-wait," she pants against his neck, breaking a kiss. "The – the spell –"

"Do it," he rasps, his hand on her waist, "you'll need it," he says, the cocky bastard – she has barely the time of waving her hand to soundproof the room – and lock it – before he slams her against the door. The wood is cold, the upper part of her back is almost bare – a classy touch in the style of the dress – she represses a shiver, lifting up a hand to trail it between his hair.

He changes the pace of his kisses – they were hot, and open-mouthed, now he's slower, gentler, this _won't do_. She wonders why – there must be a reason – she doesn't get it until she feels his hand, his fingers loosening their hold on her shoulder to tug at her dress.

"This needs to go," he orders, gripping the blue fabric, pushing down, moaning in protest when it doesn't work.

"You need – _ah_ – you need to untie the knots on the back, first," she informs. Grins against his jaw, too, when she thinks she can win this one – because his trousers have a simpler tying, all she needs to do is to pull a string.

She complies, doesn't let his tentative hands on her back distract her, because this one, she has won it, she represses a triumphant smile when he murmurs to her ear – _you witch_ – and, mostly, when her hand finds him hard like stone.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" he says, outraged by the poor comeback of his plan. She's about to answer, has even opened her mouth to answer, when every possible word she could muster is chocked in her throat by his sudden movement.

His palms have gone to press under her thighs, in one fluid motion, angrily; he lifts her up against the door, causing her head to bump lightly there. But it seems he's not finished, because he tightens his hold on her, and he's suddenly walking towards the bed.

"Don't you _dare_ –" she starts, but he _does_ , he throws her down, and she lets out a small _oof_ from the violence of the impact. "You _moron_ ," she complains, feeling the urge of slapping him.

He's not listening – finally, he's working on the dress, because he growls a low "Turn around," his fingers going directly to the knots, tugging and pulling and scratching her bare skin. The elaborate tangle of laces falls down, his hand pressing on her back.

"If you ruin this dress, I _swear_ –" she starts, menacing, but it's too late. The screeching sound of ripped fabric reaches her ears, his voice saying " _Ooops_ – it was taking too long," his _stupid_ , amused voice – she feels the rage mounting rapidly, and she turns again, facing him.

This time, it's her hand which assaults his shirt, it's with satisfaction that she sees the shredded edges of white cotton, his chest becoming uncovered, and she may have added just a little magical help to her handiwork, because now she has the upper hand, here.

He cups her cheeks, his hands sliding behind, pulling her head towards him and drawing her in for another kiss. His lips are hot and needy, her dress momentarily forgotten, the elegant veils lost somewhere around the bed. When he captures her lower lip between his teeth, she lets out a moan – she's not so proud of it, she still has her dignity, and he's so confident he's going to make her scream, but she – _won't_ –

It's little harder not to have a reaction, when his hand finds her breast. It's still covered, multiple layers – her bra, and the dress, but still, he passes his hand above the nipple, and her instantaneous reaction is to press her legs together.

"So – _oh_ – when are you going to keep your promises?" she asks, grinning, meeting his eyes, meeting his equal grin.

"Soon enough," he says. He nears his mouth to her ear, whispers, "I need you naked, first," and _fuck_ , it sends shivers down her spine, she loves it when he talks like this, like she's the sexiest person he's ever met.

She leans on, too, aspiring his scent, "Good," she answers. "Because I _do_ like it rough, thief."

"Be careful what you wish for," he murmurs. He resumes his work with the dress, cursing between his teeth, never leaving her breast, his hand sliding under the fabric and finally freeing it. He rips again at the irremediably ruined dress, tearing it apart in the middle, where she has hung some feathers between her breasts, until it's just a piece of clothing hanging from a side of her body. _Shame, it was beautiful_ , he muses, all serious – _what a jerk_ – and pushes it away, finally relishing her almost-bareness.

She places her hands on his shoulders, fingers curving in a strong grip, as he abandons her mouth to descend and take her nipple between his lips, starting to suck, to swirl his tongue, toying with the other nipple in the meanwhile. She closes her eyes, something inside of her bursting into flames, threatening to explode. It's just _too good_ , the sensation, it's as if all of her synapsis are coming alive at once.

Then, he leaves her nipple with a wet pop – goes up again, to her jaw, and sucks right there. His mouth is almost insanely illegal, it's _marking_ her, she's definitely going to have red bruises in the morning. While he kisses her, he manages to tug down a strap of her bra, fervently, but she doesn't care, not now –

Her head falls into the crook of his shoulder, her lips pressed against his skin – they curve up, slightly, when he gives her a particularly strong suck. So she does it – a bite, right near his neck – a small thing, but a bite nonetheless, and she smiles at the throaty sound he lets out as an answer.

Satisfied from his reaction, she continues, alternates sloppy kisses to angry bites and sucks. They're like animals, assaulting each other's necks, like lions, rage and love and need all together, a primal instinct that doesn't leave space to kindness, not today.

"Regina," he murmurs, almost a prayer, when she bites his earlobe. His hand circles her waist, possessive, tries to lift her up. "Take off your panties," he asks, "before I tear them apart too –" and _nope_ , not happening, she has to at salvage her very expensive lingerie at least.

She quickly complies, holding on to him to lift herself, pushing them down. He goes to unclasp her bra, twitching it, like it has offended him, finally revealing her completely naked skin. "You too," she urges, motioning at his underwear. He's faster than she is, he only has one piece to get rid of – and he does, with urgency, without thinking twice.

The time they've taken to get naked feels immensely long, now. She presses her legs together, sinking into the soft mattress, when he gets on his knees and surrounds her body with his arms. She feels him pushing her down, his lips going to kiss her, to distract her. All of that rudeness and violence of moments before, it's gone, now he's almost kind. She wonders, what he's doing, what he's planning. Her back finds the cold of the bed, she feels the warmth of his hands cupping her cheeks.

Then, while she's lingering in the sensation of going slow for a few minutes, he changes his pace, fastens it. She sees him from a weird angle, all splayed on the bed as he's on all fours, kissing her from above, planting quick signs of need on her lips.

His hand finds her nipple, the other one, tugging it, just a little, just the right amount for her to start grinding her thighs slowly. He has to notice, because she feels him smile against her mouth, maybe holding back a snarky comment.

When his hand leaves her breast to slip down, when he finds her humid folds, she closes her eyes. He curves his fingers, testing her wetness – oh, yes, she's so _wet_ already, has been from quite some time – maybe she has started when they were at the party, maybe it's been a mixture of the dangerous game she was playing and his murderous glares from the other side of the room…

He starts pumping, slowly at first, then harder, hitting some sensible spots, spots that have been neglected until now. "Yes," she lets out, biting her own lip right after – damn it, she shouldn't have. Her eyes open, his grin has spread open. He adds one finger, going to lie next to her so he can reach a better angle. It's almost painful, his rhythm, but so _nice_ , so pleasurable, _oh, please, more_ , she thinks.

Or maybe she says it out loud, _who cares, as long as he continues_ – his other hand goes to settle behind her neck, drawing her close, his mouth returns to her neck, sucking, as he draws circles on her clit with the skilled ability of a long-time lover. Heat spreads through her, her hand gripping his hair…

She can already feel the first waves coming… yes, right _there_ …

And he slows down.

"R-Robin," she growls, but the bastard is smirking, insufferably so.

"Say it, love," he asks, his wet fingers going from the fast pace of moments before to a slow caress, and it feels so _frustrating_ , as if she's losing something, damn _him_ …

"What," she pants, trying to lift her hips to meets his hand, trying to get some friction – she was feeling so close…

"Say you're sorry," he cocks his head, giving two hard thrusts with his fingers, as if he's reminding her of what she could have, if only she were willing to say those words…

"The hell I will," she protests, _no fucking way_ , he can forget it – but he just smiles, retiring his hand – oh NO, no _way_ , that _bastard_ –

"Then I suppose my job here is done," he says, even if he's promised to fuck her senseless, got her all riled up, and ready, and soaking wet… she _needs_ it, she needs _him_ , needs him _now_ , needs the sensation of him pounding into her, oh gods, why on earth she has agreed to this…

"If you go away now, I will roast your ass," she threatens, but he shrugs, not impressed at all by her fascinating counter measurements.

"What about we make a deal," he proposes, tickling her skin just above her entrance. "You say it, and I give you what you want… even more so," he says.

 _Damn him_.

"You give me what I want, and _then_ I'll say it," she bargains, cupping his cheeks, throwing him that look she knows he can't refuse… and apparently, he has some needs too, because he grins, again, and nods, and his fingers re-enter her. "Let's hope the queen has honor," he mocks her.

And – oh, _that's_ more like it, that's what she wants – he's actually keeping his promise, now, in and out, slow circles and fast movements. Her eyes close, the heels of her feet dig into the mattress, pushing down, her hips lift again, against his hand. She's rocking, now, curling her fingers around the sheets, her teeth sink into her lower lip.

His murmurs in her ear don't help at all – he's giving an accurate description of her in that precise moment, _so wet, so slippery, love – you're gonna come so hard for me_ – her breaths quicken their pace, she abandons the sheets to grip his shoulders, maybe leaving some scratches with her nails – he doesn't mind, he bends down and trails his tongue on her nipple.

"I – I need –" she rasps out, it's incredible she hasn't screamed yet – he nods, letting out a breath around her stiffen breast, "I need you – inside," she manages, her hand moving from his shoulder to his back and then to his hardness, "I wanna come with you inside," she says.

He smiles – not his usual, gentle smile, more like a luscious smirk, and maybe she overestimated his capacity of holding back – it's clear, he needs her too, he wants her, and he's been the most neglected of the two. His sex is noticeably ready, he slides his tip against her juices, slowly… then, he does it, without holding back, he enters her, and _this_ , this is so _much_ better, even better than his fingers, he gives her space before filling her completely.

"Yes," she hisses, holding on to his forearms. She meets his eyes, full of pure desire. "Robin?" she says, slowly. He doesn't answer, but looks at her, questioningly. She grips his arms, more, stronger. "Don't go easy," she requests.

A moan escapes from his throat – when he finally starts moving, his thumbs pressing on her shoulders, she can feel him, hitting her again and again, so hard, so fast. She doesn't think he's ever been so rushing, so careless, so needy – fine by her, as long as he keeps pushing against that particular spot. He's really going, now, making good on his promise, with swift thrusts, his hands have left her skin – he's positioned them differently, one splayed on the mattress, the other holding on to the headboard.

Regina has managed, until now, to keep her mouth almost shut – but it's getting rather impossible, so she moans, surprising herself with the primordial, throaty sound she lets out – "oh, more, harder," she says, her voice harsh. He complies, she didn't think it was possible, but he pins one hand under her back, lifting her hips, so she is pressed against him.

"Oh – fuck," she curses, biting the inner of her cheek, so hard she tastes blood. "Yes, don't – don't stop," oh, this is so good, he's saying things, but her mind his wandering around, full of incoherent sensations, full of pleasure – he's saying things to her, like _you're so tight, fuck, you're amazing_ , she stops listening, she focuses on the rhythm, the surging of her orgasm, the feeling of him, filling her, holding her…

He has bowed his head, it's the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes, her mouth opening in that much needed ecstasy – it's the best moment, right before the explosion, when she's going through the stars, just before –

Before it hits her, like a violent storm, her scream comes low and then high, her nails sinking into his flesh – she feels him, she does, in the black oblivion of her pleasure, she knows he's come too, in sync, reaching the peak – his breaths have quickened, then slowed, and she feels it, him, always.

He loosens his grip on her side, panting, with one last thrust, he slides out. She's sweating, and her legs feel like jelly, still practically trembling. He passes his fingers between his hair, looks down at her, and what a sight she must be – splayed on the bed, hair like a mess and covered in bruises and bites. She smiles, though.

In the blissful sensations of their aftermath, he finally comes to lie next to her, resting his head on his closed fist, his other hand caressing her stomach.

"Was it… _satisfactory_ , love?" he says, as if he doesn't know already. She feels the urge of rolling her eyes, but she's still cherishing that glow of happiness and tiredness, so she hums. He smiles at her, leaning on to kiss her lips. He lingers there, for some instants.

Then, when he gets up, he lifts an eyebrow, expecting she'll say something – she _has_ to say something, a certain sentence, so she huffs, smacking weakly his arm. " _Fine_ ," she tells him. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"It's extraordinary how difficult it is to make you say it," he muses, almost laughing.

"Oh, well," she lifts her arms to stretch them, in a lazy move, "You knew I was difficult when you met me."

"You're right," he agrees, and again, captures her lips in another kiss. He goes slower, now, this is the part where he usually cradles her against him, lulling her to sleep…

But that will come later… for now, she is content where she is.

Next to them, resting on the pillow, there's one of the blue feathers from her dress.


	33. deck the halls, darling

_Oh look, sometimes I find an hour to write! It's the season, fellas, enjoy!_

* * *

 **Deck The Halls, Darling** _  
_

When the door closes behind him, he's hit by a wave of heat, all of a sudden. It's weird, he thinks, because outside, yes, it's freezing, but he doesn't consider it so serious that it could lead to their home as a literal oven. There must be something like 25 degrees, inside, and he immediately starts sweating.

"Honey? I'm home," he calls, – no answer, only silence. He shakes off the snow from his boots, a creeping sensation of dread he can't avoid starts running through his spine. "Regina?"

" _What_."

It's a low voice, annoyed or hurt, or both, and he rushes towards the source of that voice, throwing the groceries on a chair.

When he gets into the living room, his eyes widen, when they meet that unusual sight. And _that_ sight would be his very pregnant wife sitting in the middle of the room, on the carpet, surrounded – no, _engulfed_ – by Christmas lights. And it's a mess, because she's somehow managed to tangle herself on the inside, in her clear, useless effort to untie them.

His primordial need to laugh is immediately suffocated by her deadly glare – he immediately gets an expression which would be easy to find on his face during an occasion such as watching over a dead beloved. "Regina, ahem," he coughs, scoffs, and her eyes narrow, and damn, if he doesn't get a grip, he'll most likely join that dead beloved. "What's happening?"

"What do you think?" she barks, pulling onto a wire and trying to disentangle it. "It was about _time_ you got home."

"I'm sorry, it was crazy at the shop – apparently, the dwarves are very fond of strawberries, of all things, so I had a bit of a fight over the last box…"

She stares at him, and the words die in his throat. She lets out a shaky breath – an exhausted, small thing, her hand splayed on her swollen stomach. With his supreme horror, he spies a tear rolling down her cheek. And his amusement transforms into concern.

He goes kneel next to her, taking a solitary wire between his fingers and pulling it down. It was a simple move, and she watches as a good part of her arm and forearm is freed. She has somehow recollected the wires around one arm, to roll them up, and in doing so… created even more of a mess.

He places his hand on her shoulder, his other hand going up to wipe away the tear. "What is it? Talk to me, we'll fix it."

She sniffs, his love, before meeting his eyes in a sheepish look. "I miss magic," she murmurs.

 _Ah_. Now he gets it – well, he doesn't, really, but he imagines. The frustration of having a problem, and not being able to magic her way out of it, as normal people do. And then, probably, she feels guilty for blaming their daughter – _health reasons_ , Whale called them, _Madam Mayor, better not to overtire the body with any kind of magic, especially if you're sure the baby has magic too_.

"Of course you do miss it, Regina, it's a part of you," he tries to soothe, but there's no use. She avoids his eyes again, her gaze skimming over the light bulbs piled on her legs.

"I just wanted to do _something_ , for once," she says. "Something on my own, but as always, I've worsened the situation…"

He sighs deeply, and places a kiss on her forehead. "You do more than enough, my love," he assures her. "And this – _this_ happens, and it's easily fixable, okay?"

She nods, not quite convinced, but anyway lets him work on the lights. His fingers brush on her skin on more than one occasion, she just stays still, watching him, and she still looks sad. After a while – tireless and exhausting work for sure, but stupid and time-wasting – he gives up.

"Okay," he whispers, menacingly, staring daggers at those stupid lights. He's up on his feet, in the kitchen and back in the living room before she can even mutter "Robin?"

As he approaches her and kneels again, when she catches sight of what he has in his hand, a small puff of laughter leaves her lips. "What happened to _easily fixable_?" she mocks him, and he's never been happier to hear that quirk of teasing in her voice.

"It went lost into this living hell," he answers, holding his breath in concentration as he positions the scissors on the wires. "Who put these lights back in the box last year?"

"I believe it was Roland, dear," she lifts her eyes to the ceiling, amused, knowing every protest will fade now.

When he snaps the scissors closed for the third time, the lights fall, all at once, and she's free. He takes her hands, to help her up, the damned black wires falling on the ground in a tangled mess. "Better?" he asks, relieved when she nods, staring down at the carpet with a frown.

"You know Peanut will be heartbroken without lights," she muses.

"Yeah," he sighs. "I guess I have to go retrieve some more, uh?"

"Mm," she confirms. "Not yet, though – stay here a bit, first?"

"Of course," he agrees, a smile tugging his lips up. "I'll even make you hot cocoa, if you go sit on the sofa and stay still," he mocks her. She tugs at his arm, throwing him a glare, but complies, and it's absolutely adorable, the way she has to sit and cross her arms with a pout – well, he finds it adorable, but maybe it's because he's used to find adorable her gazes which promise a quick death.

He shakes his head, and goes into the kitchen – Henry's made sure he mastered the art of hot chocolate, _just like mom takes it_ , and he's nearly finished with the whipped cream she eats in man-sized portions, when he hears _noises_ from the living room.

He takes the mugs – already prepared to find another complicated situation, but he sighs in relief, because it's not that bad. She's standing up, holds the sparkling garlands which usually go above the mirror on the fireplace, and she's so cute – on her tiptoes, eyes glancing back at him.

"Help me out, will you?" she asks. He places the mugs on the table, nears her, but instead of taking the garland, he surrounds her from behind, placing a kiss on her hair.

"Not tall enough?" he scoffs, with a perfectly audible whisper. He _oof_ s loudly, though, when her elbow hits his stomach.

"Shut up and help me," she hisses, frustrated. He lifts the garland, places it easily above the mirror and then going to continue on the nearest painting.

"Here you go, Your Majesty," he bows, gaining himself another stare. "Your cocoa is getting cold."

She rolls her eyes, but finally sits on the sofa and takes the still-fuming cup. "Oh, Robin?" she says. She takes one sip, and lowers the mug, with a mischievous smile. "When Your Tallest Highness will be finished here, there's snow to take off from the porch," she says, looking angelic and devilish at once.

He shakes his head, ignoring her completely as he goes to sit next to her. "There's some snow to take off from your lips, here," he says smugly, and finally, she cracks up in a smile, meeting his lips halfway, and okay, as long as he kisses her like that, at least she won't get in trouble with some deadly decorations – as long as she kisses him like that, the snow can wait…


	34. love is all around

_Some Christmassy words from the prompt: "Imagine your OTP being next door neighbors that don't know each other. But after a particular long night out Person A can't unzip their dress (or can't get the knot out of their horribly tied tie; get creative!) and they're home alone. After struggling for a long time they have to accept that they need help. And that's what brings them to Person B's door in the middle of the night."_

* * *

 **Love is All Around**

 _I feel it in my fingers  
I feel it in my toes  
Love is all around me  
And so the feeling grows  
_

.::.

 _Damn Ruby Lucas. And damn my stupid habit of listening to her_ , Regina thinks, stumbling a little as she tries to insert the keys into the door lock. The keys don't cooperate, though, because they slide down and fall – she lets out an enraged _Shit!_ when she has to kneel down to retrieve them. She should never have drunk that last shot of tequila, because her head is buzzing pleasantly, and she's feeling dizzy, and really, all of this rage towards Ruby probably comes from the pain creeping up from her feet to her spine – _and damn my heels_ , she ends when the key finally turns in the lock.

As soon as she enters, she's kicking off her heels, and relishing in that particular sensation you get after hours of torture, when your feet aren't used to the flat soil yet, and they curl in some residual pain. Then, she throws her purse and her coat on a chair – Mother would frown at her untidiness, but yeah, Mother would die of a heart attack if she knew how much she's drunk.

Her room is dark and quiet – just like she has left it, hours ago, there still is her silky pajamas folded above the pillow, a bottle of water on the nightstand and some aspirins. _Thanks, sober me_ , she laughs inwardly, cracking the confection open. She gulps one pill down – the others are for tomorrow, she has this feeling she'll need them. And desperately so.

She nears the full-length mirror to inspect the damages from the night – and that would be the usual pre-Christmas party organized by her office, but then Ruby and Mal have dragged all the girls at the club, even the not-so-enthusiast Mary Margaret, and honestly, Regina was up for some fun before the next days, days of family lunches and horrible gifts and her sister bitching as always – _crap_ , her pantyhose is ripped – she curses as she slides it down and away from her legs – and she _really_ didn't want this night to end, to be honest.

But it's too late now; it's almost four in the morning. Unlike Ruby and Ella, she isn't in her twenties anymore, and her head still spins. She sighs, and retrieves a rubber band from the vanity to lift her hair in a ponytail, so she can unzip the dress.

The dress.

The dress she has bought during the last Black Friday, and it's one of her finest catches, she has even managed not to spill anything on it. You wouldn't guess, by looking at it, but it was quite cheap, even if the material is good for her standards. She turns her back to the mirror, glancing above her shoulder, and brings a hand up to take the zip between two fingers. And pushes down. It works, for a moment. And then, not anymore.

"Oh, come on," she hisses, her elbow twisted in a strange position, as her sweaty fingers slip and leave the zip. She gives it some thugs, and it works for a moment. It moves of one or two positions, then it stops again. "You've got to be kidding me."

It is completely normal to talk with a zip at four in the morning, isn't it?

So she tries – her pajamas is still on her pillow, as if it's mocking her – she tries to fall on the bed and lift her shoulders to create more space for the zip to run down, she tries to hold the dress tighter on her body, she tries sliding it up on her shoulders, but with no use, because the fabric isn't elastic and she fears to rip it.

"Okay," she growls, going into the kitchen. She opens a drawer, staring at the pair of scissors inside. She could cut it.

(But she likes it.)

She could sleep in it.

(And wake up with the same problem.)

When she slams the drawer close, her drunken mind has conjured a solution – she knows, deep down, that her sober, more thoughtful self won't like it, not even a bit, but it's _desperate times and desperate measures_ , so she paddles away from the kitchen and back in the hall, where her heels still lay on the ground.

She grabs the keys from the table, and opens the door. It's only a few meters above the cold piles of the floor, so she doesn't take any kind of shoes – her feet still hurt and would never bear that pain again, tonight.

And this is how she ends up at Robin Locksley's door – barefoot, with a half-unzipped dress, and her keys in one hand – on the 24th of December, at half past four in the morning. She knocks.

Yes, she is _that_ desperate.

So desperate she is relying onto her neighbor, with whom she has yet to get over the _Good morning to you too_ phase – her neighbor, who will be delighted to be woken up for this stupid thing – her neighbor, whom she's always found attractive as hell, especially when he goes to work early in the morning, with that blue tie she likes so much, freshly shaved and with that scent of pine and fresh air that lingers in the elevator _oh so pleasantly_ …

She hears footsteps from the other side of the door.

Her hand is still up, closed in a fist, when the door opens.

And he rubs his eyes, in a clear attempt to wake up – then, he widens them, his slumber all but gone, as he takes her in.

"Oh, uhm – Regina, right? What– ?"

His words fade slowly, and silence descends upon them – and Regina realizes she's still holding her hand up. She lowers it slowly, her dizziness from earlier – and consequently, the burst of courage which has brought her here – is disappearing, and she's about to fully realize what she's done. Maybe it's the aspirin kicking in.

"Hi," she tempts a smile, but he's still staring at her in disbelief.

He shakes his head, blinking twice, and now he seems to be fully awake.

"Hi," he mimics. Another heavy pause, where they're staring at each other, her breaths coming out in little puffs of air.

She gets it, she must be a show right now – barefoot, in a half-unzipped red dress, hair like a mess – her rubber band has already fallen – and it's clear as day that she's drunk. But she doesn't care, because – _fuck_ , he's hot.

Of course she knows it already – but he's always had too many… _layers_ , to be honest, and now he's visibly just stumbled out of the bed, believing it was an urgent matter… and he's in t-shirt and tight boxers, because she was a utter idiot and she could have found another solution –

"Did you, uh, need something?" he exhales – she doesn't miss his gaze, checking her out, and _maybe_ she's not the only one who's attracted by the other.

She bites her lower lip, suddenly very aware of his eyes on her. "Uhm, as a matter of fact, yes," she bursts out. He nods, motioning towards the inside.

"Come in, it's freezing," he offers – she throws him a look before passing beyond his body to reach the warmth. He closes the door behind her, careful not to make noise.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," she starts – when he shakes his head, leading her to the kitchen, she follows, but can't help to notice the mess that still lingers in the sink, on the table – he must have had guests, tonight. And then, she sees there's a lonely bottle, in a corner. Maybe it wasn't a happy evening, then.

"It's no trouble, I couldn't sleep anyway," he offers, and she thinks _bullshit_ , because he looked like someone who's been resting – even if, now that she thinks about it, the shadows under his eyes are more revealing than what she thought. "What's the matter?"

He's leaning on the counter, and it amazes her how he didn't make a move to cover himself, to find some trousers, and then thinks _who cares, better for me,_ when her gaze trails on the well-toned muscles of his forearm.

"I, hem, had some problems with… my dress," she says, feeling a hot sensation going up to warm her cheeks. Suddenly, the temperature of the room seems to rise all at once – they still have a good pair of meters between them, but she feels pulled towards him. She takes one tentative step, turning slightly to show him a portion of her back. "The… zip wouldn't work," she points at it, "…and I was alone and I didn't know what to –"

"It's okay, don't worry," he smiles, as his body leaves the counter. She smiles, embarrassed, as she turns completely, glancing over her shoulder. He is very near now, she can feel his presence behind her, and his hands go up to touch her neck. A shiver runs down, from the point where his fingers are in contact with her skin.

"It's – I think it's stuck, but not broken," she whispers. He holds gently her hair up, shifting it on a side. It tickles, almost, electricity buzzing between them – her neck is bare now, his hand reaching for the unfortunately capricious zip. He tugs down, at first, but it has stopped. She feels one of his hands sliding under the dress, to lift it just a bit.

She hasn't got a clue on what he's doing, but as long as he keeps doing it – brushing her skin, maybe pulling at the fabric, he's gentle – yeah, she's not complaining. She leans on him, an improvise wave of dizziness washing over her, and she shakes her head in an attempt to stay alert.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks, stopping for a second – from when, exactly, are his lips so close to her ear?

"Yeah – sorry, must be the tequila," she excuses herself. He continues with his work, shifting her hair again – it's too long, she should cut it, because it continues getting on his way. She's feeling his breath, now – a little heavier, as he's employing some force in pushing down the zip. A strong tug, and he must have unblocked the dilemma, because – finally – she hears that very much needed noise, the zip goes down – he pushes it, slowly, as if he doesn't want to let it get stuck again.

He pushes down some more, his hand keeping a fold of her dress not to let it fall, and she suddenly remembers just how low the zip goes – he could stop at the middle of her back, but it goes down until it reaches her rear – his hand is firm on her shoulder, and it's _nice_ , actually – to be touched, it has actually been a long time…

"Here, all done," he says. She glances at him again, inclining her head. His fingers skim one last time over her bare skin, the latch of her bra now visible.

"Thank you," she murmurs. Reluctantly, she moves away from his body to turn and face him. He's so close – blue eyes staring directly across her soul, his nose only inches away from hers. They hold each other's gaze, for a moment – lost into a fantasy, maybe – until they just realize how close they are, and it's a split second of embarrassment, when they divert their eyes, Robin distancing himself a bit, Regina throwing a small cough.

"I, I think – I think I should go," she says then.

(She wonders if he can hear the regret in her voice.)

"Oh, yes – sure," he answers, seeming surprised.

(She wonders if it's regret, that shadow in his voice.)

But she doesn't move, she looks at him again – she's almost hypnotized – it's just, he's so _close_ , and his _eyes_ , and it's Christmas, and she's lonely –

A heartbeat passes – then two, three.

"Ahem, right," she comes to her senses, because he's intoxicating, and it's been months of stolen glances and casual brushes in the elevator…

He steps aside to let her pass – she falters, her eyes squeezing for a second. She doesn't want to leave, she wants this night to last forever, so she doesn't have to face the world tomorrow…

She feels him behind her, following her trace in the few steps they have to reach the door. She opens it herself – she's still holding her keys, she realizes.

Turning towards him, her hair falls on her back, on her bare skin. "Well, then, thank you," she says, blushing again – her head feels funny, as if it's full of air, her feet curl on the cold tiles.

"Anytime, Regina," he answers, flashing an amused smile at her. She stares at him for another moment, then blinks, but there's only that magnetic pull, silence, and his lips tugging up, his hand lying on the doorframe.

What comes next, she couldn't have foreseen it. She'll blame drunkenness, tomorrow, or maybe the frustratingly high sexual tension between them, or maybe the warmth he has brought in her evening – she pushes on her tiptoes, to plant a kiss on the corner of his lips.

"Merry Christmas, Robin."

He blinks, surprised, then lifts one hand to touch the exact place where her lips have grazed his skin. She waits – a second, a day, she doesn't know – he lifts a hand, that goes behind her head, and trails his fingers between her hair. They stay like this – she doesn't know if she's shivering for the cold or the anticipation – until they're moving at the same time, closing the distance, lips meeting – and it's good, it's new at first, her hand cups his cheek, his hand presses on her bare back – he brings her closer – it's nice, and so warm – and that is how she ends up making out with Robin Locksley, at Christmas Eve, at almost five in the morning.

When they part, she can't stop the smile widening on her face.

He stares at her in amazement, an equally wide grin in return.

"Merry Christmas, Regina."


	35. there's something there

_hi everyone ;) this entry is my work for the Secret OQ Admirer - Valentine's Day Edition 2017, written for one of my absolute faves (i was so lucky to get her!), my dear Emma!  
it's a bit... different, but i hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless! XXx  
happy Valentine's Day!_

* * *

 **There's Something There (That I Simply Didn't See)**

A Play in Two Acts – Where Love Overcomes Hate, and Two Lonely Souls Find Each Other

–

 **Act I  
Scene I**

 _A classroom, early evening, mid-December. A bunch of almost-frozen students. Two teachers. The first one, Professor Regina Mills (standing) is about to explain the next stage production of the school. The second one, Professor Robin Locksley, is sitting on the teacher's desk and grinning smugly._

REGINA This year the board wants your group to play something new. That's why we have a list for you to choose from. No Shakespeare, this time – so, Miss Swan, I know you were already pining to play your doe-eyed version of Juliet and to kiss the hell out of Mr Jones, but you won't have such luck, I'm sorry.

ROBIN And consider yourself lucky. Because they wanted you to play The Importance of Being Earnest, and I suddenly felt sick.

REGINA _(throwing him a look)_ That's because you're unprofessional, Locksley.

ROBIN Yes, as you say. Now, let's see your choices. _(he unrolls a list, like a parchment)_. First one, Chicago. Second one…

EMMA _(interrupting)_ A musical? You want us to do a musical?

ROBIN _(continues, totally unfazed)_ Second one, Mamma Mia. Third one, Wicked. Cats, Grease, Les Misérables, The Phantom of the Opera… do I need to go on?

KILLIAN _(snorting)_ Man, this is insane! My vocal talents are far too perfectly tuned to waste them in a musical –

REGINA – and that is precisely why I've suggested you to be the stage tree, Mr Jones.

 _The students have different reactions: some are smiling and seem to be interested, some are rolling their eyes_.

REGINA You are welcome to leave a vote on this paper, as you leave the room. If you don't care enough to choose, you can always stick with our choice.

 _The students exit slowly, most of them leaving a mark on the paper. The classroom is now empty except for the teachers_.

ROBIN Well that was a low blow.

REGINA _(turning to collect papers from the desk, hiding the hurt in her voice)_ You know you're the popular one between you and me.

ROBIN _(lowering his voice)_ I wonder why…

END OF SCENE.

–

 **Act I**

 **Scene II**

 _Above the theatre's stage, there are many students going around and busying themselves with stage props. All around, some Christmas decorations and a Christmas tree in a corner. Next to the tree, a piano._

NARRATOR You're probably wondering how we got in this situation. And I think you wish to know a bit more about our characters. Well, long story short, Regina Mills, that teacher you saw before, was a pianist. And a very good one, if I have to be honest. Like, she went around Europe and America and Asia to perform. Damn she was good. I went to listen to her myself. But one day, alas, she had a nasty accident that kept her from playing at those levels again. So she ended up in this school, where she teaches music.

Robin Locksley teaches English literature and has a kink for theatre. The school board paired them up because this year Miss Blue, the Dean, wants a musical.

Oh, wait. Did I mention they hate each other?

 _She bows and exits_. _The focus returns to the characters._

REGINA What do you mean you forgot the new draft of the script home?

ROBIN _(frustrated)_ Precisely what I said, Miss Perfection. It happens.

REGINA _(muttering)_ It happens to morons.

 _Robin opens his mouth to answer, but before he can say anything, Emma calls from near the piano_.

EMMA Miss Mills! Can we try my song again?

REGINA Miss Swan, as delighted I would be to try that song for the fourth time in a row, I think our ears deserve a little break.

EMMA But Killian said I have trouble on the high notes.

REGINA _(opening a leaflet and pretending to read as if the conversation is over)_ And that is precisely why he sings the male parts. Because he knows he has to leave the high notes to someone who is actually an expert.

 _Emma crosses her arms, turning to face Killian with a frown. Scene on the two teachers again._

ROBIN I think you should be less strict with the kids. This is supposed to be fun.

REGINA Your so-called kids have a driving license already, you can stop cuddling them.

ROBIN I'm not cuddling them. You can stop being heartless.

REGINA _(slams the leaflet she was reading close and glares at him in rage)_ You think I'm heartless? Well, fine! Goddammit, Locksley, it's impossible working with you, I swear!

ROBIN Yes, because working with you is a walk in the park.

REGINA Let's say that between us I'm the only one competent enough!

ROBIN And I'm the only one who gives a damn about this play!

REGINA _(raising her voice)_ By forgetting the script home? Yes, you clearly care so much –

ROBIN It was a mistake!

 _Regina nears him, fuming, her hands on her hips. She points a finger to his chest and hisses – very, very angry._

REGINA Listen to me, Mister Heart of Gold. You get a grip and start working with me, and not against me, or you can find yourself a new music teacher, do I make myself clear?

 _She storms out, leaving Robin there, staring at her with an equally angry frown – the students around continue working, pretending they didn't hear a thing. Killian smirks, Emma gives him a nudge._

END OF SCENE.

–

 **Act I**

 **Scene III**

 _Again, the set. No Christmas decoration, but instead, an enormous bundle of flowers on a desk (center of the stage). Students busy around, as always. Regina walks in, sees the flowers and looks puzzled. She nears a student._

REGINA Mary Margaret, whose flowers are these?

M.M. I don't know, Miss Mills, they were there when I arrived. I think there should be a card, but I didn't check in case…

REGINA In case?

M.M. In case, you know, they were… you know… for you.

 _Regina laughs and shakes her head, going to check for a card. We see her find it and open it, reading quickly and trying to hide a smile. She turns to Mary Margaret, who is looking at her, curious._

REGINA _(assuming her normal frown again)_ No name. Don't worry, I'll make sure they reach their owner. Now, shall we try your song? Which one?

M.M. I'm going with Dancing Queen, if that's okay…

REGINA Yes, of course. If you can call your partners in crime, please…

 _Ruby and Belle enter on stage. Regina goes to sit at the piano, trying out some notes. She flips the pages of the musical score. She waits for the girls to get the microphones ready._

RUBY _(singing)_ Friday night and the lights are low, looking out for a place to go, where they play the right music, getting in the swing, you come to look for a king –

BELLE _(singing)_ Anybody could be that guy, night is young and the music's high, with a bit of rock music, everything is fine, you're in the mood for a dance –

M.M. _(singing)_ And when you get the chance, you are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen…

 _Focus on Robin, walking in from the other side of the stage. He watches as the girls sing, and as Regina plays. He looks at them, then shakes his head, his shoulders lowering, and exits_.

END OF SCENE.

–

 **Act I**

 **Scene IV**

 _Stage. Regina sitting at the piano, alone, all the students are gone. She tries a few notes of Dancing Queen again. Then, she switches to Lay All Your Love On Me. At first, she hums. Then, she sings, not so loud, almost as if she is talking to herself_.

REGINA _(singing)_ It was like shooting a sitting duck – a little small talk, a smile and baby, I was stuck – I still don't know what you've done with me – a grown-up woman should never fall so easily… I feel a kind of fear, when I don't have you near – unsatisfied, I skip my pride, I beg you dear…

 _The music fades to a background, wordless tune._

NARRATOR _(enters slowly, Regina still sitting and playing the piano)_ You're probably wondering who sent the flowers. Yeah, I am too. Let's just say, because I know Miss Mills will never admit it, that I'm stealing the card and we can discover it, okay?

 _The narrator takes the card from the table and clears her throat solemnly_.

NARRATOR _(reads)_ Even if I'm late, Merry Christmas. But then, I'm always late, aren't I? These flowers come to you as an offer of peace. And perhaps, a coffee together, if you want. Up to you, now.

 _The narrator folds the card with care, replaces it on the table, smiles at the public and exits._

END OF SCENE.

END OF THE ACT.

– § –

 **Act II**

 **Scene I**

 _Stage. Killian and Emma sitting together on the floor, Emma with her legs crossed and holding a microphone as if she doesn't know what to do with it. They hold their scripts, they're supposed to revise, but they're arguing._

KILLIAN I think it's our business. I told you.

EMMA It's not our business! It's their private life!

KILLIAN What's privacy, Swan, if not a mere invention of men?

EMMA You won't fool me with your philosophic tricks.

KILLIAN I'm just saying, a little bit of investigation can't harm anyone.

EMMA If you get in trouble, and consequently I don't have a singing partner anymore, I'm going to murder you, Killian Jones. Then I'll come to Hell to resurrect you, and kill you again.

KILLIAN Always so charming, my dear Sophie Sheridan.

 _Robin enters. Emma catches sight of him and gulps noticeably, with a guilty face. Killian plays it cool. Robin doesn't catch their reaction, he has a worried frown_.

ROBIN You two, have you seen Miss Mills today?

EMMA _(who has schooled her features and wears now an angelic face)_ She called this morning and they told us she's ill. She didn't show up.

KILLIAN _(pretending to be completely innocent and to ask out of curiosity)_ Why, has something happened, Sir?

ROBIN I'm not completely sure.

 _He pulls out the phone of his pocket. Walks away from Killian and Emma, in a corner (separate space). Emma continues to sit on the floor as Killian pulls up and follows him without being noticed. Robin waits at the phone._

ROBIN _(whispering)_ … you okay? _(he listens intently for about half a minute)_ Oh. Oh, okay, I see. I thought… I don't know, I may be silly, I thought it had to do with me. _(listens, for longer this time.)_ Yes… well that's a relief. And, Regina… _(lowers his voice)_ …I had a good time too. Get well. Yes, see you. Yes.

 _He ends the call and exits, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Killian grins and returns to Emma, going to sit next to her._

KILLIAN They are more than okay. They just need a little push, now.

EMMA _(groaning – covers her face with a hand)_ Oh dear god.

END OF SCENE.

–

 **Act II**

 **Scene II**

 _Blue light, stars flashing in the background. No one on stage. A piano version of some jazz song plays in the background. After a while, the narrator enters._

NARRATOR I know, I know, they are exhausting. Thing is, the date went well. Quite well. No kissing, in case you were wondering. They spoke of school for a while, then of their favorite travel destination, of music and of cats. Unbelievable. But at some point, Regina has had some kind of revelation. I'm willing to bet some money on her being scared as hell about this.

Let's be reasonable. He's her colleague, and she spent months believing she hated him, and then she has discovered she doesn't. She likes these evenings when they stay inside the theater until late, and he fixes her a cup of coffee as they go through their adapted version of Mamma Mia.

She likes when he offers to walk her home, and she likes that even if she always refuses, he keeps asking, because he says he worries.

She has liked when he has taken her hand, during their date.

She wasn't really really sick, but she needed some time to think. Classic.

 _The narrator shakes her head and smiles, then exits._

END OF SCENE.

–

 **Act II**

 **Scene III**

 _Regina and Robin sitting at the piano – her with her back to the public, him facing the public. They talk in hushed voices, standing closer than needed. Regina smiles.  
The students are gathered on the other side of the room (Killian, Emma, Mary Margaret, Ruby, David), and they're speaking all together, until Killian raises his hands and requests for their attention. _

KILLIAN Alright, alright. It's clear you guys don't have a clue on how to do this. Luckily for you, I do – and I also happen to have a very great idea. Dave, mate, you ready?

DAVID _(confused)_ Ready for what?

KILLIAN _(ignores him, but turns to face his teachers)_ Mr Locksley! Can you come here for a sec?

EMMA _(whispering angrily)_ What are you doing? We're supposed to let them be, idiot!

KILLIAN Shut it, Swan, I know what I'm doing.

 _Robin mutters something to Regina, who smiles and nods, while he gets up to go towards the students._

ROBIN What's wrong?

KILLIAN Okay, so, David here – _(he gives him a nudge)_ – has some bit of a problem with a song… don't you, man?

DAVID _(looking puzzled, then nodding)_ Oh, yes, that! Sure… I was wondering if you could help in some way…

KILLIAN …for example, if you could… play the scene? So David could actually see how it should be done?

ROBIN Well, I guess… which scene?

KILLIAN _(smirking – he takes the script and pretends to flip through the pages.)_ Mmm… this one, when Sam has to ask…

ROBIN _(reading)_ This one? But you could do it splendidly last time, David…

DAVID _(panicking, then settling for an excuse)_ Yeah… but I'm not sure I'll get the right… _vibe_ , today, you know? Thing is, I – hmm – I've argued with Mary Margaret, today… right?

M.M. _(holding back a laugh and then putting up a fake angry frown)_ Oh yes, we have!

DAVID So can you do it, sir?

ROBIN _(totally not convinced about the fight, he sighs)_ Well, okay then. _(starts reading)_ Hang on. Why waste a good wedding?

KILLIAN _(interrupts him)_ No, wait, wait. It has to be real, or else David won't get any help. I wonder, how… _(he pretends to look around and think)_ Yes! Why don't you do it with Miss Mills?

REGINA _(was busy reading a musical score, suddenly turns at the sound of her name)_ What?

KILLIAN _(growing excited)_ Yes, it's perfect! _(he nears the piano, takes another script and gives it to her)_ Miss Mills, can you do us a favor and play Donna in this scene?

REGINA _(reads quickly, raising her eyebrows)_ I'm not sure –

M.M. Oh, please, Miss Mills, just once!

REGINA _(looks at Robin, who is waiting for her answer, then at the students, and sighs)_ Alright. _(gets up from the piano, motions at Robin)_ When you're ready…

ROBIN _(looks at her, then starts reading)_ Hang on. Why waste a good wedding? How about it, Sheridan? You're going to need someone to boss around on this island of yours.

REGINA _(reads)_ Are you nuts? I am not a bigamist.

ROBIN _(reads)_ Neither am I. _(then puts the script aside, continuing by heart)_ I'm a divorced man who's loved you for twenty-one years. And ever since the day I set foot on this island, I've been trying to tell you how much I love you.

 _It suddenly feels very real – Robin stops, looking at her. Her lips have parted, she has lowered the hand that holds the script, and she's astounded._

ROBIN _(he shakes his head, clears his throat, then gets down on one knee)_ Come on, Donna. It's only the rest of your life. _(starts singing – Regina is frozen on the spot, because it looks like he's serious, like he's speaking the truth)_ I can't conceal it – don't you see? Can't you feel it?

EMMA, M.M., RUBY _(singing out of the blue)_ Say I do – I do, I do, I do, I do, I do.

ROBIN _(singing)_ Donna, please show it, you love me, and you know it –

EMMA, M.M, RUBY _(singing)_ Say I do – I do, I do, I do, I do, I do.

 _Pause. The girls stop singing while Robin gets up on his feet, slowly. Everybody looking at Regina, waiting._

REGINA I do. _(takes two steps ahead, grabs Robin's jacket by its lapels and draws him towards her – crashes her lips onto his, humming, he places a hand between her hair and the other one circles her waist as they kiss. Then, they part, breathing heavily. They start smiling.)_ I do, I do, I do.

 _Again, they kiss, oblivious of the students cheering next to them – Killian high-fives David while Emma and the girls laugh. Curtain._

END OF SCENE.

–

 **Act II**

 **Scene IV**

 _Opening night of the show. Everyone is busy on stage, mirrors, the girls fixing hair and make-up, the guys carrying props, (Killian fixing his guy-liner, obviously). Mary Margaret nervously rereading her part. Regina is at the piano, wears a long black dress and shining earrings. She tries out some notes and sighs loudly._

ROBIN _(gets closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder – a hand which she covers with her own)_ What's wrong, babe?

REGINA _(smiles weakly)_ Nothing. I'm just nervous.

ROBIN You'll do great. I believe in you.

REGINA _(looking up at him, smiles)_ You're awfully confident.

ROBIN One of us has to play the optimist, right? _(he bows his head, leaning on to kiss the top of her head)_ Good luck, love.

 _Regina smiles again, and watches as he leaves the stage. The students have slowly started clearing the stage, leaving Emma alone in the middle. First notes of I Have a Dream start playing._

EMMA _(sings)_ I have a dream – a song to sing, to help me cope – with anything. If you see the wonder of a fairy tale, you can take the future, even if you fail… I believe in angels, something good in everything I see – I believe in angels, when I know the time is right for me – I'll cross the stream, I have a dream…

END OF SCENE.

–

 **Act II**

 **Scene V**

 _Students gathered on the center of the stage, cheering after the end of the play. David pops a bottle open, general atmosphere of happiness and accomplishment. Probably, pop music playing. Robin exits from a side of the stage, greeted by more cheers. He stops in the middle of the crowd, talking to some students, then notices Regina on a corner. She's collecting her musical scores, trying to ignore the students. He approaches her._

ROBIN What's wrong? Why are you not busy partying?

REGINA _(doesn't stop with her papers)_ I… think I'll go home, I'm tired.

ROBIN _(stern don't-lie-to-me tone)_ Regina. What is it?

REGINA _(clutching the papers to her chest, replaces a lock of hair behind her ear)_ It's just… I don't like… _(sighs)_ never mind.

ROBIN You don't like… what?

REGINA _(motions to the students)_ They don't like me. They'll be better off without me.

 _Before Robin can reply, Mary Margaret and Emma come closer to the piano, followed by other students. They're carrying a bundle of flowers._

EMMA _(offering the flowers)_ For the pianist, from all of us!

REGINA _(in complete disbelief)_ For me?

EMMA Why yes, ma'am, Dave has been given the heroic task to retrieve them.

 _Robin circles her waist as she takes the flowers, not bothering to hide his smile. She smiles too, blushing, but manages to utter a thank you to the students._

KILLIAN _(shouting)_ Now who wants to go to the club?

 _Every single student cheers and they move towards the exit, in a chaotic mess – just as Regina turns to look at Robin._

REGINA Come with me, you.

ROBIN _(leans down to kiss her, humming in appreciation)_ And where do you want to go?

 _Regina nears her lips to his ear, talking in secret, and a smile creeps up on his lips. He turns to kiss her again, then she parts, smiling, and takes him by the tie, leading him off the stage, as they laugh._

END OF SCENE.

END OF THE ACT.

– _Fin –_


	36. at dawn

_Written for Bea's bday. Missing Year._

* * *

 **At Dawn**

The sun is starting to rise, when they reach their destination. Regina slides down her horse, taking sight of her surroundings, her untamed hair caressed by the wind. The sky is painted of a pale pink and a shade of lilac, almost entirely deprived of blue.

But the sky is a mere frame to the real protagonist of the view – the calm, translucent sea, washing quietly over the cliffs underneath them, blowing a smell of air and new beginnings, of fresh breaths and calmness.

"Why have you brought me here?"

It comes out like a whisper, but Robin hears her. He pats his horse on its rear before sending him gently to the nearest green spot, to graze. Then, he reaches her, his eyes roaming over the sea in front of them, and speaks.

"Because it's one of my favorite places in the world."

She doesn't answer.

Instead, her hand brushes his own, still timid. They've come to know each other, the past few months, intimately so – one could say physically. But this, this is new. Sharing. Discovering. This is beautiful and terrifying, because Regina now thinks she likes it.

She has appreciated and even needed the quick fucks in deserted hallways and behind massive columns, back at the castle. But tonight, she has let him stay in her bed. For the first time. Tonight, she has woke him up because of a nightmare, and he has taken her hand and brought her to the cliffs.

His skin is warm, hers is cold. She is painfully aware of how close she is to him, the comforting heat from his body near hers – that not even the unforgiving wind up there has managed to dull.

Dawn is slower, in the Enchanted Forest.

The sky is now of a more and more bold orange tinge, overpowering the pink – this still lingers up where it mingles to the light blue. The first rays start to filter from the horizon line, and Robin links his finger to one of hers. She wonders how they must appear, if there happens to be some fisherman in a small boat, floating under the cliffs.

Her emerald green cloak flutters, following the wind, her hair dances. Two deities, here it is. They are immortal beings, right now, supervising over the moment where the sun is born. Two legends, straight out of a myth, creatures of uncertainty and mystery.

She scoots closer.

The first half of the sun is up, tracing a perfect semicircle over the sea. If she had to choose a melody for this moment, it would be from violins.

She fears that speaking will break the spell, so she stays silent.

When Robin leaves her finger, she feels lost. It lasts a moment, though, because his arm circles her waist in a loose hold.

She's forgot how to breathe.

The first tendrils of red have started to spread from the orange glow, when Regina places her head on his shoulder. She feels bold.

It's so beautifully quiet, up here.


	37. path of light

_Here's a Ghost AU, peeps! I challenged myself to keep it short ;)_

* * *

 **Path of Light**

There is a man in her bed.

Regina screams, stumbling down the mattress, falls, her back pressed to the wall, her chest going up and down as if life has been squeezed out of her.

 _Don't be afraid_ , he says. He looks sad. Regina watches him.

 _You're the first one who can see me_.

 _What do you mean?_ , she answers. A little step towards him, even her heart hasn't stopped its frantic tattoo.

He lifts from the bed, his hand goes up, his eyes asking for permission. He nears the hand to her cheek.

And she feels a delicate swoosh of wind, but nothing else. There isn't the warmth that his hand should have.

His sad eyes make sense, now.

;

She has her answers two hours later, at the Saint Margaret's Memorial Hospital.

He's standing next to her – but also laying in front of her, dressed of a green nightgown, wires and tubes attached to his arms and nose, a monitor checking his pulse and vitals.

He's in a coma.

A tear slips down her cheek.

 _I'm sorry_ , she whispers.

;

He stays with her.

Gives her privacy, obviously, when she requests it. They have their heated moments, because she went to the library and brought home all the books about ghosts she could find, and he got mad, _I'm not dead yet, Regina._

She was furious, because he was ungrateful in his own powerlessness.

She told him to stay away. And when he was back, two days later, she had finally realized she was the only one who could help him.

;

She feels stupid, at work.

Has learned how to speak without being noticed, at the corner of her mouth. Otherwise, they'd think she's crazy.

Sometimes, he gets bored and fluctuates away.

;

One evening, he tells her about his family.

That his wife remarried, after almost five years. She still goes to see him, brings a bundle of irises.

;

She comes home drunk, after a vodka night with Mal, and he's angry. Because that man's hands where a little too wandering, and she could have been hurt, there in front of him, and he'd have been forced to watch without being able to act.

 _I don't need your protection_ , she spits.

;

They play chess, during the evenings. She moves the pieces for him.

She always uses the black ones, but moves first even if she shouldn't. When he protests, she shrugs and smiles.

;

 _I wonder how I would feel if I could touch you_ , he whispers one day, when he thinks she's sleeping.

Regina clenches the sheets, her eyes squeezing in the dark, because she has wondered the same thing over and over.

;

When it's been five years of coma, he returns to her one night, terrified. His wife has decided to terminate his life, to unplug the machines keeping him alive.

Regina reaches the hospital in the morning, and storms into his room.

 _I'm sorry, who are you?_ Marian says, her hand curling around her new husband's .

Regina ignores her, and her fingers brush against Robin's skin, his cheek. _I'm sorry_ , she murmurs. The same words from months ago, when she first saw his body.

When her lips touch his forehead, his eyes open.


	38. me after you tape 23

_They made me start 13 Reasons Why. That's the only excuse._

* * *

 **Me After You. Tape 23**

"Hi, my love. I'm… not sure how this thing actually works, but your son just told me to… near my mouth to this thing and then it will do the rest."

His voice runs through her like a electric zap – painful, sudden, unexpected.  
It stings.

Regina catches a breath, a finger pressing _pause_ just immediately.

 _Oh, gods_.

Hearing his voice, after… these weeks, is hell.

Henry was so unsure when he gave her the tape. _Mom_ , he has said with a sad smile, _I have something for you. It's… I'm sorry, it… got lost and I found it this morning, it just…_

… _appeared_ , she has ended, her lip trembling.

 _Like hope_.

The tape as her name on it, and she had to work up a lot of bravery not to cry in front of Henry.

Her finger presses _play_ again.

"It's just… bloody hell, this sounds so stupid," she hears him chuckle. She can just picture him – his amused eyes watching the device supposed to record his voice, his hand fidgeting with something, maybe a pencil. "We came back from Camelot and no one remembers a damn thing, and I guess… my most recent meeting with a lovely Fury has moved something in my soul."

Regina feels a tear roll down her cheek. _Too soon_ , she thinks. She needs to listen to this, because she doesn't have much time now. She needs to pay attention.

"So, I think… I wanted you to have something to keep onto if we lose our memory again, love. Or – if we ever are separated – because you know I'll be trying to get back to you, but in the meantime, I want you to have this – so if you're hearing it, my love, it means I'm not with you, and for that – "

She sobs, presses _pause_ again, her hand going up to cover her forehead.  
It's too much. She can't do this, not now, not while they're waiting for her.  
Henry probably didn't know what was inside – not exactly, anyway, or he would have waited…

Plays again, his voice loud and clear.

" – and for that, I'm sorry. But, Regina, it doesn't matter, really. You gave me something that, no matter what, I will never – ever regret." She smiles, though unwillingly, her cheeks heated by the pumping of blood in her veins, her heart beating faster and faster. "You gave me moments that are precious, far more than any jewel I've ever stolen. I wish you could see every day how much I adore you deeply."

The tape scratches a bit, then runs more smoothly.

"I just wanted to tell you… well, here, although I've already said it many times, but I wanted you to have it, you know? That… I love you, Regina, more than I can ever say…"

She's crying in earnest, now, almost misses his next words, crying and laughing because it's absurd, that all she has of him are some photographs and a letter and a tape…

"… and, my love, please, even when I'm not with you, do something for me. Keep hoping – and believing."

It ends there – with a muffled white sound, a buzzing that continues until he presses something and then it's… done. That's it.

She stares blankly at the old stereo, her heart heavy, and blinks, letting the last tears fall. She rewinds the tape, then pops it out and replaces it back in its case. A case that has her name on it, written in his messy handwriting.

One last sigh, one last wipe at her tears, and she looks at the bed – she had a dress picked out, but it seems a bit too… festive, after _this_. After _him_.

 _Me after you, my love_.

And she knows, that there's a version of him who's happy with the other part of herself, but it's not _him_.

So she opens the closet, choosing something else. White sleeveless shirt, black skirt – he would have loved her curves in that skirt, she thinks with a smirk.

Her mirror reflects a tear-stained face, but she's calm now. Solemn.

So she starts to get ready, because she has a wedding to get to.


	39. happy beginning, indeed

_from the prompt: one shot where OQ are doing it right before the wedding and get there right when they're about to say their vows. "Sorry we're late."_

* * *

 **Happy Beginning, Indeed**

It appears that pregnancy makes her horny.

She's just entered the second trimester, and her stomach is now gently curved, nothing too excessive yet, but given that she's always been thin, it shows. They still don't know the gender, and this pains some members of her family – Snow, above all, who can't wait to know if it will be another boy for David to teach swordfight (Regina has said that no, she doesn't need the prince for swordfight, she can teach her own children, thank you so much) or a girl to spoil, in the same way she's spoiling their Annie, whenever she can steal her from Robin's arms.

So yes, it wasn't hard to find babysitters for this morning. Henry was gone before noon, and her heart has skipped a beat when she has seen him with a tie, and a white rose he was probably going to offer Violet soon. Then, Roland had sailed away with Granny, Geppetto in tow, saying he had to test the desserts before the reception. And then it was Annie's turn with Snow, because the little girl wanted to go and see Aunt Emma's dress.

"At least we get to keep one kid," Robin has sighed, once Annie was out of sight, placing his hand above the curve of her belly.

"Mm, not for long," she has answered. "They will steal her too, you know."

He gives her a pointed glare, so she adds, "Fine, _her_ or _him_ ," and smiles, even though she knows, she just knows it's a girl – the swirls of her growing magic are violet, and lilac, and gold, it's a girl, but there are bets going on, so she'll have to wait a little longer.

"I still think it's a boy," he muses. "Even though, it would be nice to have a mini you… with long dark hair and brown eyes, a little girl who learns how to ride a horse before she learns how to walk."

"Ah, is that so?" she smiles, leaning on him. "Nice to see you have high expectations, darling."

"Just calling it how I see it," he answers. "Shall we go change?"

"It's early," she complains. She's still in her nightgown, and she's already sweating in the air of the summer morning. "I have to shower, first…"

"Oh, so there's plenty of time," he says, embracing her from behind. He moves away a lock of hair from her neck, starts trailing kisses there, slowly, and Regina closes her eyes.

"Not _that_ plenty…"

"Uh, love?" he interrupts his kisses, and speaks, "I seem to recall you having certain… _needs_ , this morning, am I correct?" She feels his hand brushing against her skin, her lobe. "Needs that have been interrupted by a very excited four-year-old, am I right?"

"Mm-maybe," she moans, because his other hand is now dangerously close to her thighs…

"And you told me," he kisses her once more, on her shoulder, then on her neck, "that you just… can't get enough, on these days, am I correct?"

"I – I may have," she pants. "It's the hormones…"

"Oh, the hormones, uh?"

"Oh shut up, thief," she says, but what she'd intended to be sharp comes out as a prayer, his hand has now discarded the folds of her nightgown and… she _needs_ him, yes, she's been a mess all week, ever since the morning sickness has stopped and she has discovered how much he loves her pregnant body. He can't keep his hands off her, lately, they are _thirsty_ , there's no other word…

And Regina is _so_ wet…

A swirl of smoke, and thank the gods he's used to magic, because he doesn't even blink when they land on the still unmade bed, and she's on top of him. "Looks like someone gave virtue up to the hormones," he says, smugly.

" _What_ virtue," she smiles, leaning down to kiss him. He moans, cupping her face and deepening the kiss, he still tastes of coffee, and it's… _amazing_ , having the house for themselves, it's so relaxing. She doesn't have to hold back, and she does just that when his lips find a particularly sensible spot, sucking her neck, Robin, she whispers, more, please, and he does just that. He sits, she's still on top, and brings one hand to slide between her thighs, finding her slippery entrance not quite ready yet.

"I need you," she pleads, "it's been so long…"

"Regina, it's been _hours_ ," he says, amused, stroking her, making her head fall down on his shoulder. "We literally made love _yesterday_."

"Too long," she complains. "Stop talking and fuck me, Robin…"

He smiles against her hair, his fingers still avoiding the right spot. "Weren't you going to shower?"

"Later," she answers back, her lips on his skin, threatening to bite. "Let them wait…"

So he complies, his fingers moving faster, pumping in and out in a pace that's… not entirely slow, she supposes, not quite satisfying, _More_ , she orders, but he smirks. And then, he stops.

"Robin," she growls, because, damn it, she _needs_ this, she has since hours, she…

"Touch yourself, my love," he asks, brings his slick fingers up to toy with her nipple. "I want to watch you…"

"I've got to do all the job," she snaps, but she's too riled up to get angry, so she slides her hand down there and starts rubbing circles where she needs them most. He's watching her intently, one hand on her breast, the other in her hair… She wants to show him everything, so she fastens her pace, her mouth curving in the start of a moan as she kneads her clit.

"Are you gonna come like this?" he asks, and Regina nods, frantically, " _Yes_ , oh god, yes," that has him groaning and starting to pump his own length. She gets wetter, somehow, knowing that he's so turned on by her being turned on…

"Faster, love," he commands, "just like that… let it out, we are all alone…"

Regina's head falls backwards, her thighs starting to tremble, more wetness pooling there to ease her way as she coaxes more friction. He lowers his hand as she's working on her clit, he enters her with one finger, it has her stiffening around him and then opening up, a little cry escaping her lips.

"You're so beautiful, love," he murmurs, "could watch you all day…"

And she's close, now, those delicious waves approaching faster and faster, he brushes his cock against her thigh and tells her, "Don't come yet, Regina, please."

"W-what," she lets out in a strangled moan, "I – I need to – why _not_ –"

"Wanna come inside you," he says, and she trembles, _I'm not going to last – long, Robin, please_ …

He shifts her slightly, hands curving on her hips, and she sinks down slowly, tries desperately to hold back and wait for him, but he's thick, and he slides inside her so easily, he hits her clit again as he starts moving…

"Oh my god, please, I'm – "

"Just a little longer," he grins, pumping in and out of her, so she leaves that delightful spot and her hands curl around his shoulders, her forehead pressing on his shoulder as his hands fall on her lips.

"Lie down," she urges him, she needs a new angle or she won't be able to reach the peak, so she pushes, and – god, he's so handsome like this, nearly completely lost, she basks in the feeling of him inside her and he moans, _Gods, Regina, yes, like this, lovely_. The new angle is just right, and she's so far gone she has stopped being embarrassed of the faint cries she's giving away so freely now.

Her palms press on the mattress, now, the slick sounds of skin against skin is just so good, she leans down to kiss him… it's frantic, at this point, they're both so close, so close, she was close already but this is better, more satisfying, his mouth devouring hers and his cock hitting her right there…

"Robin, I – please," she manages a strangled sound, muffled by his lips.

"Come for me, babe," he tells her, "come on…"

There's something that snaps inside her, all of a sudden, something that stretches and frees the pulsing sensation, crashing pleasure all over her mind and body and she feels him, her clenching walls and him _there_ , until he cries his release with her and she falls on his chest, spent.

"Gods, I love you, woman," he says, making her smile against his chest. He slides out carefully, slowly. "Why do I always worry for the baby in situations like this one?"

"The baby is fine," she smiles. "Maybe traumatized, but she's fine."

He draws her closer, his arm around her shoulder, and she presses her head on his chest. He's stroking her with his thumb, in lazy movements, and she closes her eyes. It's so peaceful, here, now, with him, the day light filtered by the curtain, the fresh air of morning on her skin…

"Let's stay here forever," he whispers. She hums, not a single cell of her body is opposed to the idea… time could stop and she wouldn't complain…

Oh shit.

Her head pops up from him, she pushes on one hand to keep herself up. "Robin, what time is it?" Her hand stretches to the nightstand, and he grunts when she lands on him to look at her watch.

"So?"

"Shit, we are so late," she breathes, lifting herself up, "we're never gonna be there on time and Snow will kill me."

"Oh, relax, love," he grins – he still hasn't got up, he's watching at her while she envelops herself with bed sheets. "Can't you magic yourself ready in three seconds?"

"I already teleported us here earlier," she groans, reaching for the bathroom. "I can't use that much of magic in one day… the baby, remember?"

He finally slides down the bed, and she lets the sheets fall, offers him the rear view and turns to see his jaw dropping. "Now, do you wanna join me in the shower?"

;

When they reach the car, she's wearing a baby-blue Empire dress which does nothing to hide her growing stomach, and Robin's deep-blue suit makes him so sexy she wanted to jump on him the minute she saw him.

"She is going to kill me _and_ the baby, and it's your fault," Regina complains as they pull over the car. Walking on high heels on the wobbling wooden tiles of the docks is… pretty complicated, but she manages. The Jolly Roger is festive, today, drapes of white fabric and white flowers, the sun high in the sky.

He helps her up the stairs to reach the board, his hand on her back, and… well, everyone turns to stare at them. A white-dressed Emma is already facing Hook – she has a flower crown on a cascade of curly golden hair, and she raises an eyebrow knowingly at her.

Regina bites her lip and smirks, glances at Snow, then speaks candidly.

"Sorry, we're late."


	40. i have loved the stars too fondly

_set right in the middle of that wonderful last episode of season six. enchanted forest, a ring, and a new life._  
 _p.s.: i stole a quote (in italics) from a book i love, called The Baron in the Trees. thanks, I.C., credits to you._  
 _xX_

* * *

 **I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly**

 _... to be fearful of the night._

.

.

He follows her.

 _To the moon and back_ , there was this old saying in her world, and it seems he's doing just that – to go with her, no matter what. Her son threatens to kill her every time their paths cross in some way, and it's… too much. She can't stay here – in this realm of wishes where the fake Henry is the only family she has left, and he hates her.

So they purchase a bean – in some obscure way, he takes care of it – and they land in her castle, and she's still holding his hand as they fall to the ground in the courtyard.  
He's… different. Different from the old Robin, that is for sure. Less soft, rougher, he lacks that shades of fatherhood and that quiet wisdom he had. This Robin is more impulsive, darker, and… they fit.

Surprisingly, they fit.

She's not Regina, not entirely, and he's not exactly her Robin, but different versions, still intertwined. They are thieves, and he's not opposed to magic now, but he sees it as a fascinating mean to get what he desires.

The Enchanted Forest is always the same. Less populated, of course, but it's just right. There is still people to help and it took a bit of convincing, but he has resorted to stealing for a purpose, now. She goes with him, often. She has the dress of a bandit in her closet. She has the memories of the bandit Regina and the skills of archery and stealthy steps.

It works, between them. It's a new life, and it took some adjustments – some fights, too, they're stubborn, both of them. But he doesn't mind the soft cotton of her sheets, and doesn't ask what they are, they just – are. Partners. She likes that word. It's a word that sounds safe, partners in crime, but holds open meanings. Partners in life, soon to be friends, lovers.

Until the day when she hears a voice, and her blood freezes in her veins.

They're somehow hunting – or rather, engaged in an exhausting competition about who will be able to take down the highest number of ducks. No magic, he has told her with a knowing grin.

So they've separated, during their competition, and she's drinking, down near the river, when she hears a voice she hasn't heard in a long time.

"Gina?"

;

She turns slowly. And – it's him, it's _Roland_ , with a delighted grin on his toothy face and – heavens, he's so grown up, oh, gods…

"Roland?" she exhales, an heartbeat before he runs towards her and she has just the time to crouch down and catch him. His arms curl around her neck, and he squeezes her tight, whispering "I missed you, R'gina!"

It's too much, her heart swells with gratitude, for she gets to hold this marvelous child again, "Oh, I missed you too, dear," and it's no use to explain him about her other half in Storybrooke, about the messy and complicated period she has spent trying to destroy everyone.

She eyes the Merry Men, behind the mop of his curls, and sighs. There's a lot of explaining to do, but it will have to wait. For she has to find Robin before Roland does, because the child believes his dad is buried in the land without magic – and he is, he is, what a mess, Roland seems to get his parents coming back from the dead on a regular basis…

She has to act quickly.

"Do you trust me, honey?" she looks at him, intently, ignoring the glares of Robin's men. His _Yes!_ is enthusiastic, and she feels tears growing their way in her eyes. "Okay, here's what we are going to do. I'm on a secret mission now, you know," she whispers.

"Really?"

"Really," she confirms. "and I have to get it done fast, so what do you say if you and your uncles start going towards my castle and we'll meet there when I'm done?"

He tilts his head, pensive, and asks, "Is it dangerous?"

She smiles, kisses his forehead, "No, sweetie, it's not dangerous," she says. "Don't worry, just… I'll see you there, okay? Pinky promise?"

"Okay," he says, biting his lower lip. "But… don't go away again, please?"

"No," she squeezes his hands, feeling his warmth. "No, I won't."

She has a quick word with John, hushed tones of _I'm sorry, I'll explain everything_ , and _He's… him, but he's different_ , and _Just keep Roland occupied while I deal with this, please, okay?_ and it works, the man she's come to appreciate during their time in the Missing Year knows she'd do anything to keep Roland safe and happy, he knows Robin trusted her with his son's life, so the Merry Men start moving towards the castle, and she goes to find her thief.

;

When Roland meets the man who looks like his Papa but it's not, her heart threatens to explode from the memories. Robin embraces him with ease, and she thinks he's a natural, even though this isn't, technically, his child. She has told a tale – that this Robin is like a twin, but will love Roland all the same, because his Papa's soul lives on in him.

"So he doesn't remember me?" Roland has asked, quietly, sculpting another crack in her heart.

"No, my little knight," she says. "But you remember him, and this is the way for him to love you back. You have to be patient with him, okay? As you were with me, when we lived here for a year, do you remember?"

And he's so grown up, Roland, he nods, with a gravity she has never seen in the eyes of a child. He nods, and takes her hand, and goes to meet this new Papa who welcomes him into his arms, and it looks like he has never left them.

;

They're living in the castle since quite a while now – Regina, Snow, Zelena and the others have returned to their land, to Henry, to little Robyn. Life is quiet, with her new family – Robin's men who have greeted her thief like an old friend, and she often finds herself grateful, because they're treating him as an equal, finding easily that rhythm of banters which they had from the start.

Roland asks her where is Henry, one night.

They are reading together – Robin relies on her for the newfound parenthood, but they're growing closer, thick as thieves, thanks to Roland's capacity to adapt and to his big heart, and Robin… it came so easy, for him, to adopt this child, he has taken a more serious behavior. Of course she had to take the reins, sometimes, to show him how to be authoritative without being hurtful, how to quell fears and tantrums, but he's learning.

"Where is Henry, Regina?" he says that night. Then, he whispers, with a sad voice, "Have you lost him again?"

"No, he's not… lost, honey," she answers. "He's just… far away. But he's with his mom, he's okay, you know?"

"With Emma?"

"Yes, sort of," she smiles, tapping his nose. "I'll explain everything when you grow up."

"But I wanna know now, Regina!" he says, pouting, flashing these dimples.

"One day, darling," she promises, and she knows, deep down, that it's true. "One day we'll go there and meet your baby sister and Henry, I know we will."

"Oh… okay," he gives her the hint of a smile, then his mouth opens wide to yawn. She strokes his hair, and watches him close his eyes slowly. "Oh, R'gina?" he slurs, and she smiles.

"Yes, dear?"

"I can't wait to see them again," he murmurs, eyes closed, and slumber takes him, as Regina answers.

"Me too, baby. Me too."

;

She likes it when they go stealing.

Unbelievable, but true.

The refined queen she is, it turns out, likes the evenings when they dress up in cloaks and daggers and bows, when they mask themselves with hoods and leave Roland with Friar Tuck, because those evenings always end with Robin having his way with her above a bed of hay.

"Didn't you say it was like sleeping on dirt, your Majesty?" he mocks her one night. She bites his neck, causing him to hiss in pain, and she smiles against his skin.

"You've got to stay on dirt to do dirty things," she tells him, her hand going down to find him hard. "Now let me see how the thieves do them…"

;

It's… easy, to fall in love again.

After all, they fell in love three times already, she can't see why they shouldn't do it again a fourth one.

He gets to know her. Slowly but surely, they bond with Roland's help as they did the first time in the very same castle. But this time, sex is free and flows like a delicious current neither of them wants to resist. She knows she can love, now, it took years and apples and her children to know it.

She shows him he can love too.

Those that were angry bites and quick fucks become gentle, intimate, as she bares down her soul. Slowly, oh so slowly. She gets to know him. This new Robin, and yet all the same, a bit younger perhaps, more impulsive, but going down that path of selfless love she has always seen in his soul.

;

She says I love you first.

It's not a life-or-death situation. It's not in the middle of sex, it's not a special occasion, it's not because she was dared to do it.

It's quiet, during that night, they've gone up the hills to watch the sunset.

He has his back against an oak tree, her head on his chest, and he's trailing a green blade of grass on her skin, making her shiver.

"What's on your mind?" he asks, with the soft humming of his heartbeat.

Regina lifts her eyes, meets his gaze, and tells him.

Dusk is sweet, and tastes of honey and sun.

;

 _They knew each other. He knew her and so himself, for in truth he had never known himself. And she knew him and so herself, for although she had always known herself, she had never been able to recognize it until now._

;

Soon, her dresses won't fit her anymore, she thinks, standing in front of the mirror.

She has told him, months ago – it has been painful, relieving an old wound. She has told him of an amber potion, and she has told him of her poisoned, useless womb. So he has come back, weeks after that tearful conversation, with a small crystalline vial.

"If you want, Regina," he has told her. "I'm just… giving you back your right to choose."

She has cried, that night. They have made love under the stars' eyes. She has come hard, crying out her happiness and crying out her pain, because it was him, always him, and she has a new life.

A second chance.

;

Roland is looking so adorable, his little bow in one hand and the arrow in the other hand. She hugs her knees, watching him, sitting outside under the sun. There is Alan, with him, and he tries to teach how to hold the bow upright, but Roland keeps sending the arrows right in the ground, doesn't even go close to the target.

And there's Robin, coming out the trees, with Much and Tuck, and they bring wood to carve a crib.

(She'll have to magic it done, soon, she knows it, but let them have fun.)

;

 _certain as the sun,_

 _rising in the east…_

;

She's brushing her hair, one evening, she waits for her men to come home.

It's been a long, slow day – she has watched Henry through the mirror, for a while, talked to him. They look happy, her other family in the land without magic. It's a different kind of happiness.

Her midnight blue dress is has some wrinkles, now, around her stomach. She couldn't resist it, one last time, because she knows Robin won't be able to resist it. It's the dress she was wearing when she became free from the king.  
A dress for new beginnings.

The arrow pierces her vanity with a sharp sound. She's startled, just a little, but smiles inwardly, resisting the temptation of turning around.

And she sees the ring.

Her hand goes up to slide down the parchment, unrolls it, his familiar handwriting, _Ready for a new adventure?_

She smiles, Regina, wills the tears to stop as she clutches the paper and the ring in one hand. They are there, when she turns, Robin lowering his bow, Roland sitting on her bed with a grin. She shakes her head, the smile cracking open, as she looks at them.

"Well, milady?" he asks, and he seems… nervous.

She wants to laugh, bubbling joy in her belly, but instead, she softens her smile.

"That arrow almost took off my head."

He smiles, as she takes two steps, cradles his face, closes her eyes and places a kiss on his lips. Then she opens her eyes again, meets his own, and tells him.

"More than ready."


	41. where lights glow

_A quick note before we start because I always forget to say this, thank you for all the nice reviews you leave me! You're such a joy every time ;)_

 _so I wrote some fluff from the prompt: hi would you consider continuing your love is all around christmas oq o/s you wrote a while ago? like sometime in the future with them or what happens next? it's so cute! (Thanks for the request!)_

 _This is a continuation from ch 34 so you should probably read that one first!_

* * *

 **Where Lights Glow**

"Yes, that box. Yes, that's the one! I have to tell you everything, aren't you supposed to be, like, a professional?"

"They don't pay me that much, sister," the man, Leroy, grumbles, lifting the box that holds her books. "Holy shit, my back is going to turn into a puddle of bones, what the hell did you put in here?"

Regina sighs, her hand going up to her forehead. It's two in the afternoon and she can already tell it's going to be Headache Day, and of course this had to be that same day when her boyfriend is not home until seven. Of course. She'd give her lungs for aspirin and a dark room, right now, but she has to listen to these seven men bickering and walking around with boxes of things.

And they're just starting, because there's the other house to clean up as well, so that they can pile them up in the truck and drive towards her new home.

Their new home.

When she has showed up drunk, at Christmas Eve, right at Robin Locksley's door, it was because the zip of her dress was stuck. So she remembers too little of their first kiss, it's all a daze of liquor and his arms around her and cold tiles beneath her feet.

Best Christmas gift ever.

And then, he has… stayed. In her life.

That night, they've kissed and kissed some more, and he has accompanied her to her door, even if she lives just in front of him. And she has giggled, when he has given her a goodnight kiss, and asked her out. As if she'd ever say no. As if she's ever turn down that sexy, handsome man who has stolen her heart in two dates and a half, who has brought her to dinner, and whom she has made love with on every surface of her house. It has been a warm winter, with him, then a happy spring, and in summer he has met her mother and sister – a very interesting day, that one – and in autumn they've flown to England and she has met his mother.

And here they are again.

Another Christmas, but this year she won't be spending it with people she dislikes – instead, she'll be with her friends, and his, and it will be… better. Life is better, now. Now she gets to see the man who has become her best friend and lover every night when she gets home, now she gets to hold his hand whenever she likes and to steal the blankets at night and have someone to drag over and see cheesy movies with.

"Hey, love, do we take those things too?" Leroy asks, pointing at one last box in Robin's room. She walks there, checks inside, and tells him _No, I'll bring this one by car, thanks._ He shrugs, and tells her _Fine by me_.

She knows what that box is – the box that holds inside the valuables of Robin's life, photo albums, his father's tie, some books, an ancient pocket watch. She lifts a glass ball, smiles at a frame with a picture of them in it, and… ops.

There's a… jewelry box there.

;

When he comes home – her home, they've agreed to stay there for the last night – he finds her on the makeshift sofa, curled up with a blanket and pillows, candles lit around her as she rewatches something he classifies as Downton Abbey.

"Hello, love," he greets, and Regina turns her head to smile at him. It will forever make him happy, the way she smiles, so he bends over to kiss her lips and tells her he'll be right back, he'll go change into something more comfortable and get some food for them, uh?

She nods, her eyes drifting back to Sybil Crawley as she pulls the blanket up and settles herself on the mattress.

When he comes back with heated pizza and Ben & Jerry's, Regina smiles at him, but it's… a weird smile, that has him wonder if she's okay.

"Is everything alright?"

She hums, curls against him and offers some blanket as she takes a slice of pizza. "I've had a bad headache today," she murmurs. "It's getting better now though."

"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry I wasn't here," he tells her, with a pang of guilt. "You had to deal with the moving stuff all by yourself, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she says. Munches quietly on her pizza, and they watch for a little while as Maggie Smith roasts someone with her usual sass.

The silence stretches to an unbearable level, so Robin curls his hand around hers and sighs. "Regina, what is it?"

He looks at her, and doesn't miss the way a corner of her lips lifts before she meets his eyes. "Nothing's wrong," she says, earnestly, and he believes her. She takes a deep breath, and blurts it out. "Robin, do you… have you…" she gulps down, and he stays silent, waits.

"Have you thought about… marriage?"

;

She sees in his eyes a myriad of emotions, but he's calm as ever when he answers. "Yes," he says, "we have been together for months, yes, I have."

She shifts uncomfortably on the mattress, still holding his hand. "We have… never discussed it."

"Oh, well," there's a glint of a smile in his eyes, "I just… thought about it. A lot, lately, since we came back from England."

"But…" she draws a breath in, telling herself there's no reason to be nervous, it's… Robin, after all, and she loves him. "But, like, you started… planning something?"

He smiles at her, squeezes her fingers, and then answers, "Not really. I… think things like that take time, and we have to wait for our time," he brings a hand up to replace a lock of hair behind her ear. "There is no rush, Regina, it's just… I'd like that. Very much."

She stifles a laugh, because why is she so embarrassed about this?

"And… if – _if_ – I asked you to marry me, what would you say?"

"Can't you guess?" he tells her. Pecks her lips, just a small thing, and pulls back. "What would you say?"

She smiles, tilting her head. "I'd say… Robin Locksley, you are an amazing man, a wonderful friend and a generous lover, and I adore you, and above all…"

"Above all?"

"… you suck at hiding things."

He widens his eyes, immediately understanding, as Regina finally laughs and pulls against him to kiss him. He tangles his fingers in her hair, right away, then she breaks the kiss, her forehead resting against his. "You are such a goofy idiot," she tells him affectionately. Then pulls the jewelry box out, as Robin bites his lip, and grins at her.

"So, my darling," she starts, "would you like to be tied to me for all eternity and to wake up at my side until death do us part?"

"You're such an ass," he answers, taking the box from her hands and opening it. "Yes, Regina Mills, I'd very much like to have that opportunity," he says, serious, and she feels so happy that maybe she's crying. "And do you want to marry me?"

"God, yes," she whispers, as he slides the ring to her finger. "Merry Christmas, my love."


	42. until that day

_short thing, just because i'm a procrastinator. a note: i have two multichapters going on right now ("fallen" and "back where i belong") plus a long missing year os (iridescence); so if you're in need of something to read and you feel inclined to do so, check those up ;)_

 _oq thirties au. there are no names so it could be read for any m/f couple._

 _tw: adultery, mentions of domestic violence, probably rated m-ish_

* * *

 **Until That Day**

She always meets him there. She's come to consider it as their hotel, she's come to appreciate their usual room as a second home, almost. He's never been at her place, she's never been at his, and it just makes the whole thing dirtier and more shameful. She's always prided herself to be classy and elegant, but in times like this, she feels nothing more than filthy.

He calls her _babe_ , _lovely_ , _darling_ , never asks, takes what she gives, talks calmly about the terms of their blooming relationship. He arrives first and leaves after her, rents another room to mislead anyone that could be in their tracks. No notes, no phone calls. Just the arrangements for another date through a common friend, who's been the one who introduced them, at a social gathering.

She always smokes a cigarette, after the love, and pours rosewater on her body, to gain an essence of purity she's lost since a very long time. They are careful not to leave anything behind – a forgotten earring, or a watch.

They never talk about the future.

It is not said if they even see a future. They content themselves with savoring the other, relishing each other's pleasures. Sometimes, they don't even speak much. Mouths devouring each other in moments, his fingers carding through her hair. Relieved sighs of tormented souls.

She cries, when she's on the train to get back home. She cries and she feels unworthy, disgusting. Because he's not her husband, and she's not his wife, and they are cheating, both of them.

But where there is a love like that, is it so wrong, after all?

He's always told her he has married too soon. Now, his wife is sick since years, she's become a shell of the person she was, and before her downfall, she has even told him to love again, to find someone to make him happy. But he has sworn to stay at her side, in sickness and in health, underestimating what years of _that_ sickness can do to a soul and their loved ones. He still loves his wife, she knows. But he has told her that divorce is impossible, not when one of the partners isn't mentally healthy. He loves his wife like a caring man does, but he's in love with _her_.

She told him she married too soon. That she had a sweetheart, and he died, and then it was this rich, violent husband or horrific threats. Of course, he wasn't violent at the time – but then, as soon as he'd put the ring on her finger, he was the worst beast she'd ever encountered. And she can never leave his side, because she's a prisoner. These trips are, supposedly, a visit to her aunt, but truthfully, a balm to her battered heart.

So secrecy it is, and today it's their anniversary, and the weight of one year of lies is heavy on her shoulders.

When she enters, he's already there.

 _Hi_ , she smiles.

 _Hello, gorgeous_ , he answers, standing up from the bed. _I missed you_.

 _I missed you more_ , she replies, but his hands are cupping her cheek and he's watching at her with such devotion in his gaze it makes her weak in the knees. He kisses her thoroughly, slowly, she lets out a small moan, finally, she's waited one month for this. When their lips part, she opens her eyes, his thumb stroking her cheek. _How are you, darling?_

 _I'm… okay_ , she shrugs. _He was away on the last two weeks. He came back two days ago_.

 _Was he in a good mood?_

 _Mostly_ , she replies, pecking his lips. She won't be able to hide her bruises, once he has stripped her of her clothes. He'll get angry. At himself, because he's not able to steal her away.

He looks at her knowingly, but she smiles, tells him not to worry, kisses him again. _Come to bed_.

His reaction is exactly as expected, when she's bare, covering casually her thigh with her palm, in a useless attempt to hide the blue blossom. _Please, my love_ , she whispers. _I just want to forget. Please make love to me_.

His eyes soften, he caresses her cheek, he tells her yes, and he kisses her, really this time, with a kiss that promises more and gives her a shiver. He makes her feel beautiful, and wanted, and cherished. He makes her feel a woman, a lover, a _person_.

She comes with a strangled moan on his fingers, she wants to cry, because this is forbidden and wrong, and yet makes her so happy, so there must be something wrong with her. She wills herself not to think about it, and straddles him, sinking down on him, he almost bites her shoulder before she reminds him, _No marks_.

 _I love you_ , she cries as she comes.

So fitting that she can't have him.

They end up on the bed, side by side, spent, with a stupid smile on their lips, unwilling to pop that bubble of happiness. Until he says, _My wife has been diagnosed to have four months of life, they told me today. She won't live more than that_.

She doesn't dare to smile, because it's horrible, because she feels a replacement, a second choice. She says, _If your wife dies, then I'll run away with you. Or I'll kill him. If I have to stay with him some more, I'll die. Or he'll kill me_.

He plops himself up on one elbow, and looks at her intently. _I want more, my love. I'm tired of living in the shadows. But please, don't talk about you dying, because my heart can't take it_.

It would have sounded cheesy, in another situation, but he's serious, and her eyes water. She turns her head to hide from his gaze. _I'm tired too_ , she confesses. _I'm tired of being the other woman. Of being… less_.

 _Don't cry_ , he begs. He gathers her in his arms, the sweet afterglow of sex all but forgotten. _I love you, my darling. Oh, I love you so much._

 _I love you too_ , she whispers to his skin. _Can you wait for me?_

 _I'd wait till the ends of time, darling. We will be together, one day. Just you wait._

She falls asleep, lulled by the hum of his voice and the scent of smoke, hears an old jazz song from the streets, the window open. She falls asleep dreaming of new worlds were they can be together and he can take her to dinner, where they can walk hand in hand, where they grow old sitting on a porch swing.

 _Just you wait_.


	43. the blue wife

_A/N: i started writing this au months ago, but i could never finish it. it's a readaptation of the novel/series The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood, and therefore has some M-rated triggers such as mentions of rape, violence and adult language. I don't think you need to have seen/read the actual stuff to read this, but just so you know, it's a dystopian reality. this fic doesn't contain spoilers for the series/book._

* * *

 **The Blue Wife**

When the first Handmaid arrives, she's in her room.

She's always in her room.

Leo calls, from downstairs, and she goes, because what's the alternative anyway? There isn't one. She has started to look at her gardening shears with interest, in the last hours. This is a nightmare. An absolute and complete nightmare, and it all happened in a month.

Life before the Republic was… quite good. Tolerable. And then, the catastrophe.

They've cut all the women's credit cards, fired them from their jobs, hung doctors and professors, chased down the rebels.

"Regina!" his voice comes, angry, like a thunder. She sighs, and gets up.

And goes to meet the new prisoner of this house.

 _Welcome to the club, baby_.

.::.

He's been assigned this new post by the Underground, but he doesn't like it one bit.

The Resistance needed someone inside this house – Commander Blanchard is a king on the chessboard, after all, and Robin has to be… quiet. Stealthy. He doesn't have to draw attention on himself.

It won't be easy.

He has arrived together with the new Handmaid – it's barbaric, if they ask him, having those girls used as a baby factory. Raped. Taken against their own will. The leaders and the wives, they are… horrible people, all of them, perpetrators of a violence he can't even start to describe. He knows what they do at the Red Center.

For the millionth time, he thanks all heavens he has not a family. He has not a wife who could be taken as a Handmaid or sent to the Colonies, he has not a child – hard to get one, these days – who could be abducted forever.

The girl seems quite submissive, but they all are. They were trained to be. It's this, or death. She had a name, once. He plans to discover it, one day, because he needs to know. Just her name.

But now, since she belongs to Mr Blanchard, she's to be called… Ofleo. He supposes. He'll know soon enough.

He's to be the new chauffeur, here, and gardener, and handyman, and whatever they'll think it's fit for him to do. He doesn't care. He only plans to stay out of trouble, and learn as much as he can, and then he'll fly away from this hell. He just has to wait. Just a bit longer, and the day will come, and he'll have his arranged safe passage towards the not-so-cold north.

It's just a four-hour trip to the border, after all.

When they enter the house, surprisingly, there's Commander Blanchard himself there to welcome them. He doesn't miss the way the Commander's eyes skim on the Handmaid's body, as if he's trying to see if she's worth the trouble.

Then, Leo turns to him, and greets him as a superior does to an inferior. "My wife should be here shortly," he says, an hint of annoyance in his words. "I told her to hurry up."

The Martha is already there, it seems – the woman who has to provide meals and a clean house, the servant. They are all there, except for this mysterious wife. _We could just have a Ceremony already_ , Robin thinks. _If she hurried up_.

Then, Leo's head turns towards the stairs. "Ah, Regina," he says through gritted teeth. "How kind of you to come downstairs."

"Excuse me, sir," she answers. "I lost track of the time."

And heavens, Robin is staring.

He should get a grip, he thinks, but she's – astounding, even in the petrol blue dress of the wives, even with her hair combed neatly in an elegant bun. _Good lord, who knows how many profanities she has agreed to, to be here_. She's wretched, like the whole lot of them, a rotten apple in a pretty confection, a barren and useless woman kept alive by her status.

For a moment, he wonders, what it would be like, if he could run his fingers in her hair.

It lasts a moment, because she's reached the last step, and she's… _curtsying_ to her husband.

 _What the hell_.

Then, she turns, meets his eyes for a moment, and extends her hand. "Blessed day," she says, and he nods, the right words coming out without thinking. She greets the Handmaid, too – there's something weird in her eyes. It lasts for a glimpse.

"Blessed be the fruit," Regina tells her.

Is it pity? Shame? Fear?

"May the Lord open," the girl answers.

"And hopefully he will," Leo interjects. "So, you have met my lovely wife – I'll leave her with our Handmaid, here, Mr Locksley, while I show you the annex."

A last whiff of blue and perfume, and they're gone.

.::.

Regina grabs the Handmaid by the sleeve right away. She doesn't want the Martha to overhear this conversation, because it won't be a pleasant one. "Let's go upstairs," she hisses, and the girl nods in agreement, following her. Regina wonders if she can hear the _thump, thump, thump_ of her heart, if she can feel her sweating palms or even smell her fear.

They reach the Handmaid's room – it's almost bare, that room, a bed and a lamp and a desk – and she closes the door, the curtains, and turns to face the girl.

"Lily?" she pants. "What – how are you here?"

"I thought you knew how it works by now," Lily answers. "Nice poker face, by the way."

"But – your mother, is she – "

"Gone," Lily answers. "She left with my daughter and crossed the border, but they stopped me at the airport."

"Thank god," Regina collapses on the bed, closing her eyes for a second. "Goddammit. At least they're safe."

"At least," Lily nods. "So… he got you, didn't he?"

Regina sighs, her hands going to rest in her lap, and looks at her. "Believe me, you get the lucky part of the bargain. He has you for three days per month and me for twenty-seven…"

Lily's brow furrows. "But… I thought they weren't supposed to…"

"Leo's anything but religious," Regina cuts out. It pains her, to talk about this. But Lily deserves to know, because they're in this together, even if one of them wears red and the other wears blue. Prisoners, the both of them. "I'm sorry, Lily."

"Yeah," she murmurs. "Me too. I wish you could have escaped."

"I was going to," Regina tells her, bitterly. "I had everything ready, money, passport, clothes, everything. And… there were so many guns, that night, and they just… hit me, and… I was here. Wife again, how amazing," she says. "They annulled divorces, so I'm still his."

"Shit."

"Yes."

.::.

Days are… boring.

So boring.

Robin doesn't see the Commander much. He comes home at night, but not every night, and he thinks he knows what he's up to. He listens, carefully, tries to grasp as much information he can, he sends everything away with a secure phone.

And he works.

It's not bad, this life, if you forget for a moment that the women are deprived of their rights, that they can't read, or drive, or just feel the wind between their hair.

He just does everything he's expected to, he pours every ounce of acting skills to avoid grimaces when he sees the Wife – Regina, he called her – bowing to her husband, when he sees the Handmaid sit still and wait.

They wait for the first Ceremony, which will coincide with her fertile days.

He dreads the thought of that evening. He'll be forced to watch and witness as the husband takes the Handmaid, with the wife there, in a grotesque ritual they invented to pretend the children will be legitimate. And to pretend the wives created them.

Oh, to be a Wife. They are worse than the husbands, for what he's been told. They encouraged their men, and supported them, helped them create this system that traps them too.

He doesn't know much about Regina. They filled him with information about Blanchard – who he is, what he does, how he behaves. He only knows Regina was his ex-wife, and now she just went back to him. An opportunity to sit next to the power, he supposes. He doesn't like her much – she's haughty, and sharp, treats the Handmaid like an inferior human being, even if Ofleo has a power she hasn't – to reproduce.

He can't wait to get his job done and go away.

.::.

She doesn't like the new Driver.

He's one of those people who always look kind and soft and gentle and then they stab you in the back. She knows. She has seen it happen. So she never smiles back to him, Regina, never answers to the polite greetings and tentative at conversation, and holds her chin up.

Maybe, like this, he won't know who she is. Who she truly is.

Fuck him, honestly. He's not even important, he's not been given a woman, and she knows what he's after. Fuck him, because he probably is an Eye, put here to spy on her and Lily, to control them, a snake her husband has hired.

Like the new one.

Sidney, he's called, the new one. And Regina doesn't know if she hates him or Robin the most. If she hates more Sidney's slimy attempts to speak with her, to casually find her alone in a room, or Robin's kind face – that, she's sure, hides secrets. She could be destroyed by the two of them, she could be killed on the spot (in the best of options) or sent to the Colonies (better dead, than in a Colony).

She knows what they do to women under this new regime.

So she has to be careful, don't let them see and don't let them know that she hates her life with a passion. That she's holding on for Lily and her family at the other side of the border.

 _Under his Eye, and may he rot in hell._

.::.

One night, he's in the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Rationing isn't stuff for a commander, not really, so at least he gets to eat and drink as much as he likes. One of the only advantages this job gives.

He hears noises.

From upstairs, probably, where the rooms are situated, noises and muffled screams. It's not his place, to be here, to intrude in this family's private business.

Family. This is not a family, for what he has seen, it's a game of powers.

Still, he should ignore what he can hear and go straight to bed, but something keeps him frozen in front of the sink.

 _No, please_ , he hears someone sobbing. Is it Ofleo? Weird, it can't be. Blanchard has already taken her, yesterday, Robin was there, and… all sexual acts must be accomplished for the only purpose of reproducing. So… it can't be Ofleo, not outside of the Ceremony.

"You worthless slut!"

It is Leo's voice, unmistakable, from up the stairs, he hears a door open and hissed words. "Go away," he says, another sob, and the door closes with a bang.

Robin should _really_ ignore all of this.

But… he can't, so he exits the kitchen, and looks up, and… it's Regina. The powerful, beautiful Regina, Regina the almighty, stripped down to a ripped white dress, undergarments with red stains. She meets his eyes, but she has the look of a frightened animal. He can see her eyes, wide open, worried, as if she is scared of… him. Not of Leo. Of him.

"Regina?" he murmurs, attempts a step up the stairs, but she retreats. She quickly gets up, and it's a vision, all in white, standing up there.

"Go to bed," she tells him. It's hasty, but quiet, so unlike her, she turns and slips into her bedroom.

The following morning, she has a black eye.

"Regina, dear, I don't think you should go to the Diana's Day of Birth, right? That nasty eye, we ought to do something about it."

"Yes, sir," Regina answers, poking at her food without eating it. She looks… resigned.

This is how Robin knows how unhappy she is with all of this. He has misjudged her, he thinks. She is an unwilling participant in this charade, a prisoner, no less than Ofleo. No less than him.

.::.

She gets into the car with Robin, the Driver, and her eye is pulsing like hell.

"I'm taking you to the doctor," he says. He starts the engine, the soft roar of the car coming to life, and she sighs. She misses driving – she loved it, loved the feeling of a steering wheel under her hands, but it's too late now.

"Okay," she shrugs.

He is silent for a bit, but she sees him glance into the rear mirror a few times, until he finally speaks.

"What…" he coughs a little, then restarts. "What does he do to you?"

"Can't you imagine?" she says, sounding like she's bored, while she's actually holding back tears. Damn this man, as if he didn't know. "He takes what is his to take."

Thank god, he doesn't say anything among the lines of _He shouldn't, your body is entirely yours_. Thank god he's not _that_ naïve.

"Why… why are you here, Regina?" his eyes meet hers for a glance. "With him?"

She just knows, that he simply needs to know. If she's here because she wants to be, or because she has to.

 _Here you go, potential Eye, spy in my house, man I don't know if I can trust._

"He kidnapped me," she says. At this point, who cares. If he _is_ a spy, they'll have a black van following them in a matter of seconds.

But, maybe, he isn't.

.::.

At the next Ceremony, he observes Regina. She has her legs open, sits on the bed fully clothed, as Ofleo is laying on her back between her thighs and receiving Leo's rhythmical thrusts. He stares at her, Leo can't see him anyway, the Martha will never speak. And Regina holds his gaze, she doesn't look at her husband as he grunts above the Handmaid.

 _May the Lord open_.

He thought Regina was someone he could have used to gather more information about Leo. He was wrong. Leo doesn't share anything with her, he keeps her secluded like Ofleo, he keeps her in the house. Sometimes, she goes to visit other Wives, but it's on spare occasions. The bruises are frequent on her skin, he has spied some cuts, he has seen them. The wounds.

He beats her, he knows. Where the rich blue of her dresses covers her skin, her skin is purple and yellow.

And he wants nothing more than to free her.

.::.

Leo goes away for a week. Of course, there still is Sidney hovering over them, but it's… better. Better this way, just her, the Martha, Lily and Robin. Her bruises start to heal, because there's no hand giving her fresh ones every night.

One evening, it's past midnight, she wears her hair down.

She shouldn't – her hair has gotten long, lately, and it's just so freeing to stay there, outside hidden behind a primrose bush, sitting down on the warm tiles – down so no prying eyes can see her. It's so beautiful, to feel the wind playing with her hair.

She slides a tile away, opening a secret hideout, and fishes out a small, pocket-sized book.

What she's doing now is dangerous, so very dangerous, but she misses reading so much. _So_ much.

It's forbidden, now. For the women.

Her finger skims on the printed words. (Reading is a pleasure to be savored.) Her mouth whispers the sentences slowly.

 _It is as hard to explain how this sunlit land was different from the old Narnia as it would be to tell you how the fruits of that country taste. Perhaps you will get some idea of it if you think like this. You may have been in a room in which there was a window that looked out on a lovely bay of the sea or a green valley that wound away among mountains. And in the wall of that room opposite to the window there may have been a looking glass. And as you turned away from the window you suddenly caught sight of that sea or that valley, all over again, in the looking glass. And the sea in the mirror…_

"Regina?"

She gasps, her heart instantly accelerates, and she shuts the book close as she turns towards him. "What the hell?"

Robin lifts his hands and glares at her, amused. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

Her palm presses on her chest, feels the sound of her heartbeat. "Goddammit, Locksley. Don't ever do that again."

He crouches next to her, and she slides the book on the ground, slowly, but – of course, he notices. "Ah," he says, knowingly. "Don't worry, your secret is safe."

She stares into his eyes – blue and honest, she knows, but still, there's that fear running deep in her veins. "I could lose a hand for this," she says quietly.

"I know," he murmurs. "I'm sorry."

She hums, traces the letters of the cover with a finger. "It was my dad's," she tells him. "The only book I could hide before they took me."

He doesn't answer, but his hand searches hers and squeezes kindly. He goes to sit next to her – it's nice, to have someone, to be like this, them, and a book, and the moon, it feels like it's… normal. Almost.

"Your hair is beautiful," he whispers then. It's quiet, earnest, she looks at him. He's still holding her hand, but his other one lifts and his fingers card through her locks.

"I missed it like this," she admits. Inexplicably, the prickle of tears stings at the corners of her eyes. "I miss everything about… before. Driving, reading… swimming, and… even stupid things, like… I don't know, make-up? And… you know, just… using a credit card. I miss it so much…"

"I know," he says. And she understands that he does. He _does_ know. Maybe he wishes this was before. Maybe he misses freedom too.

His lips are on hers when they meet halfway the mere inches still separating them, and it's just a simple kiss, at first. They part slowly, breaths into thin air, uncertainty in their eyes, until they pull back together like missing fragments of a star, and they collide and it's – magic, it's him and his hand in her hair and the book on the ground. He kisses her like he's always been meant to do so, since day one, he kisses her like they're lovers loving each other a long time ago, when men and women were free to love under the moon, when the world was a better place.

.::.

When Leo comes back, she's… different.

There's a sparkle, in her eyes. A new flame. And it's not necessarily a good thing.

Because at breakfast, one day, she talks back to him, and the slap of his hand on her cheek is sudden and painful just judging from its sound. He isn't there with them, but he hears from the kitchen, exchanges a worried look with Lily – Regina told him her name, finally – and clenches his teeth as Leo's menacing whispers slither towards him.

"You'll better behave, tonight, woman," he says, angry, but in a low tone that is even more threatening than screams. "Wouldn't want to have you sent to the Colonies, right?"

"I'll… I'll behave, sir," she spits out, her wrist trapped by his hand. She exits the dining room to the kitchen, doesn't look at anyone and goes to the sink, fresh water running on her red wrist, some water to her cheek.

Robin throws a glance at the dining room, where nothing is moving, so he quickly nears her and murmurs, _Don't get yourself in trouble, please_. She turns her head, her hard gaze softening when she sees the worry in his eyes. Her fingers go to squeeze his hand for a second, a wordless nodding, a _Don't worry_ she tries to tell him.

He fears he has awakened that fire in Regina, he fears that fire is going to burn her down.

.::.

Robin has a private meeting with Leo, tonight, before the dinner.

She's worried, she's on edge, and flinches when Lily asks her something about food, and dozes off frequently. Tonight, she'll stand close to Leo's office and try to eavesdrop, but she already knows that there's no use. When Robin exits, finally, his gaze is completely unreadable, and Regina catches a quick nod of his head before he leaves for the evening. He won't attend to the dinner, he never does, his status isn't high enough. She'll have to wait, to know what they've talked about.

Dinner is always boring, but tonight there's a little something that could change the usual rituals. Tonight they're hosting a Canadian ambassador and her husband, so she'll have to display her best poker face and answer as she's expected to.

"So, Mrs. Blanchard," the ambassador starts at some point. (She has to hold back a shudder as she's being called with that name.) "Tell me, what does an esteemed writer like yourself think about the prohibitions?"

She gulps down the sip of water she was having, feeling Leo's eyes on her skin. "I…" she stutters, "I think… this new situation is quite enjoyable, to be honest."

"Really?" the husband intervenes. "I read one of your books, you know – I seem to recall you were defining women's education as the only improvement that could truly save us."

"That was… a long time ago," Regina murmurs. Leo is still tense, so she adds something to placate him. "My views have changed, I'd say. This new world is simpler, easier, and much more safe if we actually keep the power where it should reside."

The ambassador arches her eyebrows, and lifts her napkin, cleans her lips. "It's… quite the interesting vision, yes," she says. Regina finally sees Leopold sink back into his chair, and feels a drop of sweat rolling down her neck. If only she could say everything she wants to say. If only she could jump into their car and drive up to Canada and be safe.

If only.

The incident comes later. They're having ice cuts with mint leaves – because of course ice cream is too much of a reminder of the old world – and Regina just happens to make her sleeve slide up, revealing one of her nasty bruises just above the wrist. It's where Leo pins her down, the shadow of his hand on her skin, and the ambassador sees it before she can stop her.

"Oh dear, that's some ugly cut," she says, "what happened?"

She looks at her, startled, and back at her wrist, her heart thumping. "Oh, this thing? It's nothing, really, it's just… uhm… I think it was just my clumsiness, you know? I must have…"

She doesn't know what to say, really, she feels Leo's eyes piercing her head, her palms sweating as the husband says, "Don't worry, my wife always tells me I am clumsy too, don't you, dear?"

His hand goes to find his wife's and Regina nods, eyes dropping, wondering how would it be to have someone to love like that… wondering if she has just signed her sentence to death.

Later, Leo doesn't say a word. They say goodbye to their guests and he's silent, his hand on her back, as they watch the car leaving. She notices that in Robin's house, the lights are still on.

Leo doesn't say a world until then, when he drags her in her room and locks her in, hissing _I'll deal with you tomorrow_ through the wood of the door.

She doesn't cry.

At least, she did something.

She feels better, no matter what she'll have to endure.

.::.

He sees her through the window, a polite smile as she waves goodbye to the ambassador, and his heart clenches. Leo has called him into his office, today, told him about Regina, that he's worried, and he can consider Robin as a friend, can't he? He's worried because she's cheeky, and insolent, and he has to rein her back before she ruins everything.

And Robin had to say yes, of course, it is Leo's duty to control his wife.

He wanted to vomit at every single word.

Because a free Regina is a wonderful Regina, and she doesn't deserve this. She deserves wind and air and space, immense valleys, mountains of snow and placid lakes, she deserves everything and above all, she deserves to be free.

So that's how he decides.

He'll bring her up beyond the border.

He'll bring Regina with him, and Lily, if she wants, and he doesn't care if it will be more difficult, but he can't leave her here with _him_. Ever.

.::.

Robin tells her about Canada.

They're alone in the car, she's going to Amelia's Day of Birth, and he tells her with a whisper. That he can take her and Lily when Leo is away, and no one will know. It will be quite simple because she's a Wife, and if they're quick, it is acceptable for a wife to travel with her Driver and her Handmaid.

She squeezes his hand, because she doesn't dare to speak and because she has to take a grip on something, to convince herself it is not a dream.

They have some worrying days, when Lily tells her that her period is late. She hopes, oh, she hopes Lily is not pregnant with a child from that _monster_ , so she can't hold back her joy when Lily tells her she's bleeding, because a pregnancy would probably trap them here forever.

She starts planning. Robin's departure date is nearer every day, so she packs a small bag with some items she wants to take with her, and a folded coat on the bottom. She has nothing of hers here, no photos or memories, it's all lost, but right now, saving herself and Robin and Lily is more important.

She doesn't know how to feel about Robin.

There hasn't been a way to… explore a relationship, after that secret kiss. She doesn't know, yet. If he's just a… travel partner, and once they're safe in Canada she'll come to despise him or fight with him, or if he's a person with whom she could get along with, she could have a deeper connection.

It would be naïve, to think she has found her soulmate in this hopeless place, so she doesn't think like that. She can't allow herself to.

.::.

His worry increases day by day.

He has a date, ready for the departure, and the Mayday has declared he's given them enough information, and now he can run. But that date, that agreement, it didn't include Regina, and it didn't include the fact that Leo needs to be away from home when they run away. He knows that bringing Regina and Lily along increases tenfold the dangerousness of the operation, but he could never leave them. Because no one deserves what they're stoically enduring. There's a voice in his head, that says _Why them?_ , but he shuts it. Them, because he can see himself falling in love with Regina. Easily. So, them.

The information is brought by a smart ally of his, and the Mayday agrees upon a day, next month. But it's on him to get Leo out, to get him away, and possibly, Sidney should go too. The fewer eyes to spy on them, the better.

Regina is distressed, he can tell. She keeps packing and unpacking, there are days when she doesn't even meet his eyes and days when she pushes him around a corner and kisses the hell out of him.

 _We can't_ , he murmurs, his heart aching.

 _I know_ , she says, _I know_. She cups his cheek, smiles at him sadly and turns around to go.

.::.

Leo has planned this trip for weeks now. And yet, every time he mentions it she feels jumpy and nervous, and she senses that he's going to feel something is wrong with her. He's going to ask, to question her, or worse, to bring her along.

Thank the heavens, he would never bring her to his overpriced brothels. (As if she didn't know about it. She knows – the smell of other women on his body, and she can only hope he treats them a little more respectfully than he does with her.)

The last night with Leo is torture.

He gets to have her, as always, and she stares at the ceiling, her hands limp as he does what he wants. She doesn't resist, she looks up and repeats to herself _This is the last time, the last time, never again_.

He doesn't comment on her lack of resistance – he grunts and pounds but doesn't hurt her, not tonight, and… it could have been worse.

When he delays his departure to the afternoon, she gets stressed. Robin is, too, and Lily is just a ball of nerves. If they find them, Lily is the one in the biggest danger. When they finally – _finally_ – watch Commander Sawyer's car turn the corner, they let out a collective breath of relief.

"Mrs. Blanchard?"

The relief in her heart goes up in panic when she hears Sidney's voice.

She turns, foolishly thinking that her hair would swish if it were free to do so, and faces him. "Yes?"

He tilts his head, a glint of something in his eyes. "Nothing," he says carefully. "Just wondering if you planned anything special for today."

She exchanges a quick glance with Robin, before scolding herself. _Idiot_. He's already suspicious, it isn't smart to let him see the sort of connection she has with Robin. "No, I – actually, I think we will go and – maybe visit the boarding school. I haven't decided yet."

"As you want," he says. She doesn't waste any more time and walks away, praying that Robin and Lily will have some common sense and go towards different directions.

Robin reaches her afterwards, her whispered _What will we do?_ immediately hushed. "Don't worry," he tells her. "We just have to leave, and then – it will be alright, Regina."

"We have to go to the boarding school. You know he'll call and he'll tell them we are coming."

"Fine," he says, one hand passing through his hair. "But then, we'll leave."

.::.

He keeps watch while Regina goes to the garden and retrieves her book. She crouches down, glances nervously towards the house – searching for Sidney, he knows. _Regina, hurry_ , he whispers. She looks back at him, and smiles; before turning to the book and sliding the tile back in place. The little objects is graciously slid in her pocket as she raises.

Lily's already in the car. Nervous, she keeps tapping her foot, and – they'll need a more convincing actress if they want to survive.

As he drives away, he can feel Sidney's eyes on the car, but for now, they're safe. As long as they go to the boarding school and meet the kids, and as long as they call Sidney to tell him they actually went there, they're okay. He hopes.

The problems start as soon as they leave the school. Regina looks back, pensive, Lily has closed her eyes – maybe praying a forgotten and forbidden god, he doesn't know.

"Now, we need to be quick," he tells them. "We have half an hour of calm before they start coming after us. So, it means we have to pass a checkpoint and at least twenty minutes of road where they will follow this car…"

"I – I'm afraid," Regina murmurs. It's so low he thinks he has missed it.

His head turns slightly, keeping an eye on the road. "I am too," he confesses. And he is. For them, both of them, really – because he'd be killed but they'd be tortured, or condemned to a life of nuclear waste.

"It's okay," Lily says from behind them. "It will be okay," she nods, when he meets her eyes in the rear-view mirror.

.::.

Her palms are sweating, at the checkpoint. She gulps down non-existent saliva and rolls down the window.

"Identification cards," the officer asks. Robin gives her the documents, wordlessly. She tries to will her fingers to stop shaking. Her heart thunders in her chest as the man scans the ID codes, as he compares their faces with the pictures. As he wonders, in his head, if he's about to offend a powerful Wife by blocking them; or he's about to let fugitives escape.

"You're without the Commander, Madam," he tells her, and Regina smiles, nods politely.

"He's away with a colleague," she says candidly. "But he urged me to take some time for myself. You have a wife, sir?"

"No, Madam," the officer answers, a shadow in his eyes for a moment. _Shit_. This could very well jog bad memories, and they definitely don't need an upset officer.

"Well then," she slides her hand through the window and places it above his. He looks surprised. "I wish you the best of luck, may you end up in a marriage as wonderful as mine, one day."

He softens. She sees it. She sees the exact moment where he thinks that maybe, if he's kind with her, she'll put a good word with her husband and maybe he'll get a promotion, a Wife, even his own Handmaid. He nods, smiles back, and nods to the other guardians. Regina watches the bar rise, inwardly terrified, but smiles widely at the man, who bows his head as the car slowly accelerates.

In the backseat, Lily practically deflates.

"You alright?" Robin asks, his hand going to find hers. She squeezes, whispers, _Yes_ , but the adrenaline in her blood is swimming fast, the road running under their wheels. "You were amazing," he says. Well, he is a spy after all, so his compliments must have some value.

"Thanks," she answers, shutting her eyes.

After ten minutes, the sirens start.

.::.

He pushes on the gas pedal, Robin, has left Regina's hand. Lily is perched up in her seat, looking outside, counting the feet which separate them from the cars. "Hurry," she tells him, as if he wasn't already. He focuses, his hands fused with the steering wheel, his mind one with the road, and goes. They have police cars, not black vans – they have old relics of old days when justice was unfair and randomly put, but they're fast. Blanchard's car is, indeed, faster. But there's still minutes to go, and another checkpoint to pass, a password to tell and an helicopter to mount on.

He doesn't look at Regina, but he knows her hand is in the pocket where her book is, and that she's breathing slowly. He knows because he can meet her eyes, in the mirror, her eyes telling him he can do it, he can save them as she did at the first stop.

Her eyes that are bright, hard, and splendid.

The air smells like ozone, sloshing in the car through the open window. He accelerates, more and more, the map he's learned by heart splayed in his mind like a picture.

"We will be safe," Regina says. The confidence in her voice fills his heart, she sounds so sure; almost looks like she's already dreamed it. "We will cross the border and meet my family and we'll be safe. I know it."

"If this comes true, I'm marrying you," he decides. Right here and right now, he says it, and she laughs – deep, and vibrant, and ever so true.

" _If_ it comes true, I'll owe you a drink," she tells him, warmth in her voice.

The helicopter is on sight, now, he can easily spot it. He pushes on, finding out he can let himself leave the wheel, to take her hand.

Freedom is a breath away, and he can't wait to start the rest of his life.


	44. samhain

_A/N: first entry for the OQ prompt party, Monday._  
 _28\. it's cold and oq share a blanket_  
 _82: robin teaches regina how to shoot an arrow_

* * *

 **Samhain**

They were coming for her.

She burrowed closer into the load of dirty straw she used as her bed. She was cold. Like a hunted animal, her gaze was fixated on the door, waiting. She was trapped, there was nowhere to go.

She didn't dare to close her eyes.

The sun filtered through the door, meaning it was time for the sunset – her last sunset – and then they'd come. They always came at the dusk, it was more aesthetically pleasing to watch someone die with the sun red above the waters of the lake. She wondered if they'd carry some torches.

Fire was good. Fire was her friend, fire she didn't fear. She listened to her aunt's voice – long lost, as she taught her how to use herbs, how to mixture potions and decoctions. A bunch of ungrateful idiots, they were. She'd saved their wives, their children, cured their maladies and sickness, and now they wanted to kill her.

 _Burn me at least_ , she'd yelled the last time. And she just knew, they wouldn't.

When they came, the sky was blue and pink and red. She didn't resist – they dragged her, tied her arms with rope, and she just stared. Looked at the angry mob, daring them to speak up for her. Watching for traces of guilt, of shame, she saw people she'd cured and smiled with, now refusing to meet her gaze. _Cowards_.

.

 _The last time, she'd been a fighter. She'd held her bow and screamed, Don't come any closer!, and they were afraid of the witch's curse. Less people, the last time, she could have had them pierced with her arrows in no time._

 _She was holding her bow like it was her lifeline. Breathe, came his words from the past. Aim, breathe, release. Easy.  
Her friend of when they where kids. Ro, she used to call him, they'd meet down at the river and the first time she'd seen his prey: a little bird, not enough to feed a family, but enough to keep their stomachs full for the afternoon. So she'd begged him, Teach me. He was older than her – a couple of years, maybe, just the right gap not to find her a boring little girl. He'd helped her train, far away from her aunt's eyes.  
Breathe, Regina. His arms were steady on hers, correcting her grip on the bow. You have an excellent eye, now you just have to learn – how to be patient. _

_Last time, she'd fought and made him proud – him who she'd not seen since she was nine and he'd gone away with all his family._

 _This time, they'd burned her weapons and a part of her house. This time she didn't have a place to go._

 _._

She vaguely listened to George King, reading out loud the sentence – completely invented. She already knew the rules. _If she swims, she's a witch; if she drowns, she's innocent_. Marvelous. _You can't win, Regina_ , her aunt's voice came from a forgotten dream. Y _ou must be careful, darling_.

And yet she'd been an idiot and trusted them, and now here she was – about to die. To die because she knew the medicine and how to help, and they feared her. No one to hold her a hand, no one to say something.

She'd fought, in the past. She'd kicked and pushed and spat, but now… it was all for nothing. They were so many, so angry, so –

"Have you got any last words, witch?" King asked, his face contorted in a grimace of triumph.

"Yes," she shrugged. "I should have never helped you. Not a single one of you. I regret it – I should have let you die in pain. "

"You've heard the witch?" King roared, outraged. The crowd responded, one or two of them coming ahead to spit at her. She turned her head towards the water. Maybe it wasn't going to be _that_ bad… maybe the feeling of cold water around her, taking her, down, down, it was going to be good… a relief…

"Go on! Kill her!" A voice came, as on cue, the men pushed up to her, and King stood and moved, away. A completely unnecessary slap crossed her face and she shut her eyes in pain. The world was upside down, blood in her mouth as someone was dragging her ahead, voices all around. The water sloshed around her feet, the rope around her waist tight, and she wanted to cry. She knew, it was going to happen twice. Once to see if she was swimming or not, and once to kill her for good.

The first impact with water was a shock. It was freezing cold – a unique shiver, a single one coursing through her body. She felt herself plunge, the depth of the lake calling her down, as if there was a mermaid singing to her. Her throat tightened when it realized she couldn't – ever – breathe again. And then, seconds later, it was over.

The voices had changed. Some, feminine, were screaming. _She's innocent, let her be_. A male voice answered, _Do you want to go next?_ , silencing the girl who'd dared to speak. Her eyes blinked open, she coughed, spitting water and probably her lungs in the process. She'd never loved air so much, she thought, as she saw the crowd opening to let a horse pass. More than one horse – several, a charge of men towering over her captors.

"Leave her in this instant," a male voice growled. The man holding her shook with laughter against her body.

"And if I don't?"

She didn't need to look upwards to see that the man had been killed – it just took the sight of the arrow protruding next to her, her eyes closed. She didn't want to see. Never, for a single moment, she believed this could be her salvation. She thought of the Count of that land, of whores sold to him and murdered when he'd tire of them. She thought of all sceneries that could be worse than dying in a frozen lake.

Without the man's weight to hold her up, her knees started to collapse. Screams around her, and then – darkness.

.

.

When she woke up, she was surprised to be still alive. Not much time had passed – the sun had just settled down, the air of the faintest orange and mainly blue. They were away from the lake, she couldn't see it anymore, but she wasn't dead. How strange. Her head turned, the smell of grass filling her nostrils.

"Oi!" a voice came from her left. "She's awake!"

Steps towards her, a warm hand on her neck. "She is," a new voice confirmed. "Let's get going, men."

Regina blinked, tiredness washing over her body in lazy crests. The man passed one arm around her neck, one behind her knees, and lifted her up. She knew she was somehow heavy – her dress was still soaked, her hair damp. "Can you ride on your own?" he asked her, rough.

She shook her head. _I just want to sleep_ , she thought, but didn't say it out loud.

"Well then," he huffed. More hands joined his as she was being placed above a horse. The animal was tranquil, at least, and Regina carded her finger through its mane. She closed her eyes, with a weird kind of resignation in her mind. She'd completely given up fighting these men, escaping, because it looked like they were helping her. The man from before mounted behind her, circling her waist to take the reins. He kicked the horses gently and they started moving, rapidly joined by the others.

His warmth was comforting. He whispered, _Lean on me if you need to_. She did, let the horse's movements lull her into a trance. "Who are you?" she asked, absently, her head weightless.

It started to rain. He continued, unfazed, as if it was not his concern.

"We are the Merry Men," he said. "Friends of your aunt. I was sad to hear she's passed. I wish we could have arrived sooner."

She blinked, her head turned slightly to meet his eyes. "Then you're friend of mine," she stated. "Well, that… I did know, though. I had the feeling you were on my side. I asked who are _you_."

He chuckled against her ear. "Robin, milady. At your service."

She smiled, a small sigh escaping her lips. Robin. It was, maybe, the first time they'd called her _milady_. Then, a strong shiver shook her. She coughed, a gust of trapped air seized her lungs and exited violently. Her mind went to her safe place – herbs and remedies, and she started prescribing herself a recipe to cease the pain. Robin, however, placed a hand on her forearm. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes," she lied.

He didn't answer. After a moment, she felt something soft slide over her shoulders. "Your skin is cold," he noticed. "I can't do much other than this, I'm afraid."

"You've done enough," she answered. He draw a breath near her ear but didn't say anything else. He continued to ride the horse, the blanket enveloping them both. The air of evening was chilly on her exposed skin. Her dress had been torn in some points, by those bastards – she prayed they were dead, or hurting. The rain intensified. Her hair was now sticking to her face. "Thank you," she whispered. It nearly went lost in the rain.

She felt Robin nod. She felt tears pool in her eyes. She was so tired she could have passed out in moments. She wished for a home she didn't have anymore. She wished for the comfort and security of a past too far away to be a solace.

"I hope you will stay with our lot for a few days," he offered. "If you want, that is. We're always in need a good healer."

She stayed silent, her eyelids growing tired. How she wished to _really_ be a witch right now – to transport herself beyond the rain and beyond the lake, to a new home. She tightened the blanket around her shoulder, leaned on his chest.

Sleep was just about to take her, when she remembered something. A little silver thought, almost lost in the fogs of her mind.

 _Robin_.

"Robin?" she asked, a memory hitting her like an arrow. "Robin Locksley?"

He tensed. "How do you know that name?"

"I had a friend, once," she murmured. She didn't dare to hope… could she hope? "Same blue eyes. Very good with a bow. He taught me, in fact."

"Regina?" his voice came like a whisper. " _My_ Regina? Is that you?"

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, heart fast, trying to turn and look at him – "You – you are here! And – oh god, you saved me and didn't know who I was?"

"I knew your aunt, not you," he explained. She felt his arms tighten around her, his chin on her shoulder. "After. I met her three years ago, more or less, but – I never met her when we were kids, and…"

"It's alright," Regina said, as if her voice wasn't about to break. "I miss her too. I'm so happy I found you, oh…"

"Me too, Teensy," he teased, with the old nickname he used for her.

"Don't call me that, you idiot," she smacked his arm. "Is that offer still standing, by the way? About coming with you?"

"Absolutely," he murmured. "We'd love to have you."

Regina nodded, a smile spreading on her cheeks, and burrowed further into his chest. She looked in the darkness, while the rain had stopped, but couldn't see ahead. With the light, she'd only been a witch who was about to die. With the sunset, she had been a drowning body, and had let water wash away her life. But with dusk, she'd been saved. And with nightfall, she'd found an old friend.

She smiled in the black of night. A firefly flew around the horse, and her eyes followed its shining path. It was the last thing she saw before falling asleep. Now, safe and sound, the world could wait. She dreamed of home.

.

 _just close your eyes  
the sun is going down_

 _you'll be alright  
no one can hurt you now_

 _come morning light  
you and i'll be safe and sound…_


	45. a queen of a kind

_A/N: second entry for the OQ prompt party, Tuesday._  
 _147\. Robin and Regina watch Game of Thrones together. Robin thinks Regina would have given Cersei a run for her money. Also Regina's dragon is cooler than Dany's dragons.  
p.s. doesn't have spoilers about the last seasons. (well, you know already that Ned dies, right?)_

* * *

 **A Queen of a Kind**

It has become their guilty pleasure, and Regina is actually stunned the town has maintained its peaceful state for so long that they've managed to reach season seven. _Game of Thrones_ has, in time, transformed from a mere hobby to an addiction. She just adores the night they spend curled up in bed together, with her laptop in the middle, after the kids have gone to sleep.

Some parts were hard, at first. She still tenses during every scene where someone takes advantage of a woman. He still looks away when he sees brutal violence, a cruel reminder of his own youth. Scenes like that have the one looking out for the other, pausing the episode, talking with soothing voices.

Still, it's gotten better during the last seasons, and there are fewer triggers. Things have suddenly become interesting and fast, a real power play with those plot twists that often have them both slamming a hand on their mouth not to scream in surprise.

Regina loves it – because, for once, it reminds her she finally has a tranquil life, and she can enjoy the fights of the Seven Families without worrying about magic, or stupid fairies, or her past problems. She can relish the calm of her bedroom with her love, knowing that when they turn off the laptop life will go back to normal. She loves it, even so, because Robin likes to comment. Where she likes to enjoy movies and such in complete silence, he is a natural storyteller, and so he makes remarks, adds his observations, shares with her if he's noticed a particular parallel or an interesting theory for the future.

Tonight, they're in the middle of a very heated episode, and he just can't shut up. She smiles, however, because she's stopped finding it annoying eons ago, and now it's just a nice addendum to the entertainment.

"Do you ever think about living in Westeros?" he asks after a pause, trailing a finger on her arm.

"What?" Regina turns her head, astounded. "No thanks. The Enchanted Forest was enough."

"As in… hard to rule?"

"Among other things," she nods, watching as a scene of battle displays on the screen. "But I have to say, at least magic was in plain sight. In Westeros, it's all hidden, or legendary, or, you know… dragons."

"You had dragons," he points out. "You were pretty… close to dragons, I dare say."

She stifles a smile, and shifts closer to him, going to place her head on his chest. It's so cozy, curled up there, warm and lazy under their duvet. "I did," she agrees. "In fact, I think Mal is way better than Daenerys' dragons. You know, I _did_ have the chance to ride her."

He scoffs a laugh, and she realizes just then what she's said. "Oh shut up," she lifts one hand to swat his arm. "I can still set you on fire."

"The Unburnt," he laughs, kissing the top of her hair. "No, really. I can just picture you, as the queen of Westeros with her dragon girlfriend and fireballs on hand, flying around just to feel the wind on your skin."

 _Well that's stuff I would watch_ , Regina thinks. She pauses the episode – because Littlefinger is speaking to Sansa and she feels it's an important conversation she doesn't want to miss – and focuses on his words. "I didn't realize I had married a poet," she teases. "Perhaps you'd work as my jester, honey."

"Always so charming," he tells her. "I'd be terrified to work as your jester, truth be told…"

"Mm? Why's that?"

"Well, you see, my humor is so subtle, many people would not comprehend my jokes and I'd have to explain them, it would ruin the mood," he says, seriously. "And then Her Majesty would be upset, you know."

"Oh," she smiles, turning her head to look at him. "So my subjects are a bunch of idiots, then?"

He chuckles, gazing at her. "The whole lot of them, my darling."

She shakes her head, and goes to press _play_ – they do that, sometimes, to pause the episode to talk, and it only adds enjoyable moments to her evenings with him. As the follow through Littlefinger's monologue to Sansa, she listens to his heartbeat. It's so calming, to listen to him, to have his hand curled around her shoulder, slow puffs of breath ruffling her hair.

"Do you think she'd be a good queen?" she asks him slowly. He doesn't answer right away. "What do you think makes someone a good ruler?"

"Passion," he says. "Mercy and… strategy."

"You know, in _Game of Thrones_ you'd be dead after two episodes," she laughs. Well, he would – he's not naïve, Robin, he knows how to fight the dangers of life, but rather, he has that kind of faith in… everyone. The kind of good heart that has got Ned Stark killed. "You are so… good. You don't belong in that universe."

"And you do?" he asks her, curious.

Regina shifts slightly. "Yes," she ponders her answers, thinking. "Or at least, my... former self. Yes."

"The Evil Queen would have given Cersei a run for her money," he says. "But I find you two are much alike. Even now, even after your… redemption."

"How so? I don't know if I should feel offended." She tilts her head, awaiting for his answer.

"Regina, don't tell me you're not a lioness when it comes to your children," he tells her. "You'd tear down empires with your bare hands if someone laid a finger on them."

 _Oh_. Okay. She nods – she _is_ like that, after all, and she _did_ cry when Cersei was about to kill herself and her son to avoid others did it.

"You both are smart and… revengeful, if I can say so," he continues – _Guess you can_ , she smiles. "And bold. Never afraid to take action."

"Well you make her sound lovely," Regina muses. "But seriously, what's up with you tonight? You're even more sweet than usual, I wonder if you've done something bad you're trying to make me forgive you in advance," she laughs.

"Have I?" he asks her, shocked. She props up her head to looks at him, those eyes wide and the glint of that cocky smile that was so infuriating during the Missing Year.

"Oh shut up," she grumbles, and places a kiss on his lips. "Now hush, I want to see how it ends."

And with that, she finally cuddles up in her favorite way, his arm around her, and he lets her enjoy the end, until the rhythm of his hand between her hair almost lulls her to sleep.


	46. flickers

_A/N: entry number 4.2 for thursday and the OQ prompt party._  
 _74\. Enchanted Forest, s3, OQ secret candlelight dinner._

* * *

 **Flickers**

Her nerves are fuzzy, her fingers just about to shake as she settles the last white candle on its chandelier. _What if he doesn't come. What if…_  
The sun has just gone to sleep, the last rays filter through the trees. Regina crouches, her newest dress rustling – she has selected it especially for this particular evening. Her hand skim on the pearly, intricate sewing of the gown. It's… white. She hasn't worn anything white in years.

And, she has never been keen of waiting. It's dusk, now, the air is chillier. (Her soul, soul of a mother, has packed a thick blanket – along with the wines and exquisite cheeses, and the red grapes in the wooden basket. That is, if they even approach the possibility of a bit of cuddling under the oak.)

Her palms are sweating. Breaths exit in shallow puffs. To engage herself in activity, she toys with tiny flames sprouting from her fingers, sends them carefully to light her candles. She's just made the last one fly, when there are steps behind her, a branch breaking under a booted foot.

"You're awfully noisy, for a thief," she murmurs in greeting. Her thoughts skate to that time he's had his way with her in her chambers. Why, right at this particular time, she ignores.

"Milady," he bows. She meets his eyes. "I found your – much appreciated – invitation."

"Yes, well," she fidgets. Composure is a memory, as she desperately searches for a subject of conversation. But then, they aren't talkative people. Except for spiteful remarks, yes. "I'm… glad you found the way. This spot can be considered as… particularly hidden, you know."

He sits. Regina is now familiar again with the long forgotten sensation of _butterflies in the stomach_. Even more, when he takes her hand, laces their fingers. She wonders if he can hear her heart through her veins. It must be loud.

His thumb skims gently on her cheek. "I find myself to be quite skilled with hidden treasures, milady. Especially those which are not… material."

And how she loves when he speaks of her heart.


	47. rome, 1888

_A/N: fifth entry for the OQ prompt party, Friday.  
199\. Robin & Regina meet & fall in love in their 50's.  
oh, if you're looking for entries 3 and 4, they are, respectively, the new story Pearls and Plumes and the third chapter of Fallen. _

* * *

**Rome, 1888**

He was in Rome since, merely, a week, and he was already in love. Not with a woman – it was entirely too early for that, although his caring nature could have eased one's way in his heart and gained his affections. He was in love with the city…

His cousin, Margherita, had so kindly proposed an Italian escapade – at her place, she'd written, in a morning letter, to _mellow his gloomy mood and cheer him up, for he was too shamefully sad and she didn't think it was wise nor healthy_ , too brood after his late wife.

Marian had died after an exhausting sickness which the doctors couldn't treat. Their son of thirty, Roland, had come back from America – a long trip by boat, he'd missed the funeral, but said he wanted to be there for his father. Robin had relished his grandchildren's love, children he'd seen for the first time. But Marian and his memories were craved in his heart, and staying there in the very same house where they'd created those memories was simply too much. Roland had soon noticed the deterioration of his manners, patience and moods.

Margherita's invitations had come one day, as he was having breakfast with Roland and his wife Grace. _Come here with us_ , Margherita had written, _this air and this sky will do wonders for your mind, you'll go back as a new man._

So Italy it was. A long journey, preceded by the goodbyes to Roland and his family, the hugs with his grandkids and his daughter-in-law. He'd given orders for the house to be looked after while he was gone. The servants had splayed white cotton pieces of fabric above tables and sofas, and some of them had gone to work elsewhere, as he didn't know when he'd be back in England. Margherita and his husband had welcomed him with kind words and a behavior that was – maybe – a bit too coddling for his liking. As if he were a convalescing man, they'd lower their voice when passing ext to his room on the first day, until he'd asked them to stop, that he wasn't sick, he was melancholic.

But then, Rome had bloomed in autumn, and the season of dancing and great meetings had reopened. It was lively, the capital, and Margherita's house was in such a perfectly situated place, that he'd fallen for blue skies, the nearby fountains and the roman ruins.

"I could spend years here and I wouldn't visit it all," he confessed to Davide, Margherita's husband. He agreed, telling him he'd lived there his almost whole life and yet he was more familiar with the Paris of his youth. But Rome! Rome and its gardens, its villas and the aristocratic glory of popes and princes. Rome and its monuments, millennia of art, culture, poetry, Rome and thousands, millions of live there intertwined, one after another.

Margherita was very well known amongst the roman élite. She was, as they say, a kind spirit, and the ones who didn't love her – they envied her. She quickly took to extending her invitations to her cousin, but at first, Robin politely declined them all. He needed a few days, he said, to recover from the trip and to quietly start appreciating the town's wonders in peace. His only chaperone, an old servant of Margherita's, with a sufficient knowledge of English to be understood.

"So are you going to find yourself in a party soon, milord?" he'd asked one day, after an afternoon of the finest roman artifacts.

"I'm way too old for a party, Marco," he'd answered.

"Nonsense! You can't be older than forty-five."

"I'm fifty-three," he'd said in kind, perhaps slightly flattered by the older man's mistake.

"Never too late to restart a life," was the final wise advice Marco had offered – before continuing to explain the main legends tied to a splendidly decorated column.

Nevertheless, his thought were still too submerged with memories of his wife to even consider those words.

.:.

He was in Rome since two months and his grief was starting to subside – leaving place to a dull apathy, a quiet acceptance. At the same time, winter was just about to begin. Roland's letters were frequent and always welcomed. But Margherita's parties and _retrouvailles_ had shown him a side of life he wasn't quite ready to give up, not yet. His cousin's vitality (she was twenty years younger than he was) had been contagious, and he'd soon created a routine of his days. Letters, coffee and newspapers in the mornings. Explorations in the afternoons. Dinners and nights around, jumping from home to home. There, he'd met several friends of his cousin's. Younger, the most of them, they'd have gone accordingly with Roland, but most of the time he liked this side of life.

One evening, Margherita introduced him to a Enrico Heathfield, son of a renamed family, and he found the man of witty intellect and enjoyable conversation. His wife, Arabella, was a thing of beauty and darker skin, and Robin found out the man had married in America, then returned to Rome to join his mother.

"I will introduce you two, of course," he promised, one sip of wine later. "I'm sure you've already heard about her, haven't you?"

"I'm afraid not," Robin replied. Enrico's eyes were shining with excitement, of the natural excitement of someone who loves life and all its wonders.

"Of course, his mother is Rome's golden treasure," Arabella intervened. "She married twice already – now she's a widow – but everyone talks of her and she's surrounded with many legends. When I met her I didn't know of her many nicknames and stories, so I wasn't particularly frightened – well, aside from the normal anxiousness of meeting your future mother-in-law," she smiled.

"Come on," Enrico laughed – he found his wife's hand and he squeezed it. "You're scaring him away."

"Frankly, lady Arabella's speech has left me the most intrigued," Robin affirmed. "Now I find out I can't wait to meet one that sounds like an extraordinary woman."

"You won't have to wait that long," Enrico told him. "She told me she was, in fact, arriving here in time for dinner."

Princess Ferini announced, in that moment, that they could start moving towards the dining hall. Robin glanced at Enrico – he was looking at the door, frowning, then he turned back to smile at him. "I am sure he's just about to be here." His concern for his mother was charming. Robin approached him, and he placed a hand above his arm. "how about we start going downstairs to see if someone has, perhaps, stopped her in some way?"

Enrico nodded, with a grateful smile, and got closer to the princess who was hosting them – informed her of the issue. They rapidly got downstairs. The first snow was starting to fall. Robin was suddenly awestruck by how many weeks had already passed. He'd got there in September and it was December. The warmer temperatures had tricked him into a longer summer.

Enrico's mother was nowhere in sight, however, and he noticed the tiniest ounce of worry for a woman he'd never met starting to creep up on him. Gone were the roman mornings of blue skies and kind words, of ice slices with flavored syrups, of artistic studies and sunny midday. In fact, as he stood there in the slow snow with the other man, waiting, he was thinking of nothing. At last, there was a noise of horses. A carriage, black and white, was fast approaching, its driver shivering with chills. It finally stopped in front of the pair, sloshing mud on the side of the street. The door opened swiftly.

And there it was – the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

She dismounted with grace, smiling at her son, and turned to urge the carriage back. "Ritorno con Enrico," she said, telling a relieved driver how she'd come back. She was eager to greet her son, the customary kisses on the cheeks were rapidly exchanged, her eyes shining. Eyes that turned and fell upon him, she spoke to Enrico, presumably to ask who he was.

"This is lord Locksley, mother," he answered. "Cousin of Margherita De Nobili."

"Ah yes, that delightful snowflake," the lady said, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "May I have your hand, good sir?"

"Robin, milady," he offered his arm in a chivalrous move.

"Rather inspiring, if I dare say," she took his arm, again that smile. She was stunning. Quite close to himself in age, and yet so young in spirits – she was in her full blossom, raven hair tumbling down in curls, her hands covered with black gloves. Time had been kind to her, polishing her features in a sweet manner, softening her edges, and yet he couldn't find a particular spot where she looked old.

"A name is a fine gift, milady," he told her. "I'd ask for yours, but the mystery is very much exciting, don't you think?"

"A name for a name, milord," she nodded. "Mine is Regina."

Her accent was entrancing, the way she had to tumble out those syllables with a roll of her tongue, with that characteristic notes of someone who already knows they've won your heart.

"We should hurry upstairs," Enrico suggested, interrupting their almost-trance. "I am sure they have been wondering where we went."

"Yes, let's," Regina said, offering her other arm to her son Robin had to hold himself back from shrugging away the snow from her hair with a kiss.

.:.

 _1_ _st_ _of January, 1889_

 _My dear Roland,  
thank you for your last, and your wonderful news. The fact that I'm going to be a grandfather again soon thrills me to no end. Your mother would have been as proud and happy. She is always in my heart, as you know, but I have news as well.  
I hope you can find in yourself to forgive me, son, and I hope you will have a long happy life with dearest Grace. But life goes on, an despite loving your mother still, I found myself more and more taken with a lady I met some weeks ago. And by god, she seems to be inclined to exchange my sentiments. My boy, I never thought I could find something similar to love again… _

.:.

They used to meet in the afternoons, in a little café that excluded them from curious sights, and Regina told herself not to hope.

She'd had a decent life. Her first husband, Enrico's father, was an English man who married her in London and they'd been happy for a few years, before he died. Her second husband had married her to repay his debts, but as soon as Enrico had reached the age of maturity, Leo's old heart had given in, leaving her with a redoubled fortune. So she'd come back in Rome where she had first fallen in love, and hadn't moved since then.

Robin was… a novelty. She deeply enjoyed their conversations, about their children and families. He'd been deeply amused to find out about her and Margherita's past.

He told her she was beautiful. He told her of his late wife, of his roman interlude to grieve, and she'd told herself _carpe diem_ , and to enjoy it while it lasted. He didn't look like he wanted to leave any time soon, though. He'd started to learn Italian. He'd made himself quite the circle of acquaintances, thanks to Margherita's influence. So Regina had been flirtatious and kind, but had never dared to hope for him to stay. His life was in England. And yet, hope was hard to send away.

He'd never kissed her. Maybe he'd started to learn things about her. Legends and stories. Like the ones who said she'd killed her own husband. Maybe he was right to stay away.

.:.

He'd always considered himself too old to fall in love again. Love was for the young and the fool. Regina was neither, and so was he. He was enjoying her companionship, her attitude – her freedom. There was something, in a woman like her, that had him captured. He was waiting for the right moment. He was wondering if he could muster up the courage. (He'd written a poem for her.)

(Regina had told him, once… _It is good to be old. We have no hurry, we have no places to be. We can have the luxury to take our time to see if we're in the right place_.)

One evening, Regina invited him to the opera. They were playing the _Aida_. A _small gathering_ , she'd said, _bring Margherita too. And a rose, for me_.  
It was a chilly February evening, when he picked a white rose from the greenhouse, and put a letter for Regina in a small envelope.

The _Aida_ went through marvelously, but he wouldn't have known. His heart was beating madly, her hand mere inches from his. "Regina, guardami," he whispered, she turned in the dark. Her customary gloves were brushing his skin. She tilted her head and – finally – met his lips – unguarded, unwitnessed, the kiss promised so much more, and he just knew he had to, when he slipped the letter, it landed in her lap. She smiled at him. "Sei un tesoro," she told him. No one knew about them, at that time. (Margherita had blushed, in bidding them goodnight.)

.:.

That started a correspondence between the two of them. Before they knew it, it was April, and peach blossoms were covering of pink the street to her house. Touches had grown bolder, never too much. Until she was, undeniably, too far gone. It was scaring. But that day, it was when she'd invited him to her house – they were to be alone for some hours, her son was away with his wife. She poked at the fire in the fireplace, still roaring even though the air was definitely warmer.

The noises from the street had her head snapping up from the book she was reading. He was here.

Her fingertips went to cover a pulsing vein on the inside of her wrist. She breathed, slowly, waiting for him to be announced – she'd already informed her servants to let him through. After what looked like hours, she heard a knock on the door. "Come in," she murmured.

The door opened. "Regina," he bowed his head, ever the gentleman.

She didn't answer, but raised to her feet and went to meet him. He tangled his fingers in her hair, and kissed her forehead gently, then left her to free himself from gloves and hat. Her nervousness was starting to filter through, so she turned, poured herself more tea. "I'm glad you're here," she said, without looking at him.

But he was, alas, by now too expert of her mannerism. "What is it?" he asked, approaching, a hand placed on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Just… yes," she lied.

"You know, I, myself, am quite nervous," he said lightly. She appreciated this way to lighten the mood. "If you're still… sure, that is."

"I am." She turned, and cupped his cheek. "I am not this… person you've seen at dinners and parties, Robin. I am different – I am, currently, terrified."

He smiled softly, and leaned in to kiss her. She felt everything, right there – everything he wasn't telling her out loud, every sparkle of affection he'd behold until then, every caress and flower he'd yet to give. Their mouths parted, their foreheads touched. "You are a marvel," he whispered. "And I feel so wonderfully fortunate to have met you."

The fire continued to flicker in its nest, as he brought her to the bed, as they made love slowly, sweetly. He kissed her skin, told her not to hide, that she was beautiful. She held him, as she cried her relief into his shoulder, as she cried all the love she was not ready to say out loud.

But as the afternoon faded into dusk, she knew – that moment wasn't so far.

.:.

 _19_ _th_ _of July, 1889_

 _Dear Roland,_

 _Thank you for the photograph of your family, I especially appreciated the newest addiction. I shall cherish it with my heart. I am yet to talk Regina into taking one to send to you, but we surely will. Life is going well, my boy. I have now a fiancée – can you believe, at my age – and this is to tell you, to please come back for the wedding in December. I cannot wait for you to meet her. I proposed last week, and I'm afraid I made a fool of myself, because my physical issues prevented me from kneeling, so I told her to pretend I was kneeling, and she laughed so cheerfully I fell in love even more deeply.  
Life goes on, my boy, and I am so blessed to have met her. I just wish I could have more time with her, but I won't waste a single second of my second chance._

 _Send my love to Grace and the children._

 _Your father_


	48. vivamus, atque amemus

_A/N: sixth entry for the OQ prompt party, Saturday._  
 _48\. Robin as gladiator and Regina as his domina. (pure smut)_

 _title means "let us live and love" in latin. the following poem is the fifth carmen by Catullus._

 _[yo, dudes, this is M enough, you've been warned]_

* * *

 **Vivamus, atque amemus**

Pompeii, 79 AD, 24th of August

.

 _Soles occidere et redire possunt;  
nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,  
nox est perpetua una dormienda. _

_Da mi basia mille, deinde centum…_

.

Regina loves to be away from Rome.

Her husband stayed there, in their _domus_ , surrounded with whores and his fellow rich friends. She has left yesterday for the summer, brought with her a procession of wagons and _ancillae_ , slaves, food, clothes. Every mile away from Rome, she felt lighter, more free.

Pompeii is a renamed place on the sea, and she found their villa to be perfectly ready to meet her and her court, well-kept during the winter. It is just perfect to be here, away from the boring life of Rome in the summer, the half empty places and streets. Rich people come here, where the air is, usually, clearer and life is more exciting, more lax. This is a place to enjoy with a lover.

And until her husband arrives, that's precisely what she's going to do.

The first morning in Pompeii, she spends time in the pool of their private _thermae_. She asks for special oils, arrived from the colonies, and ointments that smell like lemons, and she sighs. She feels like she's in a bubble of perfection, and it seems like it won't last so long. She calls for her maid – it's trustworthy, this one, she knows her husband has many slaves spying on her, but not this particular one: she's loyal. Regina saved her life at the market, by buying her: saved her from being bought by a house of whores.

The slave enters, brings her grapes and wine. "Is there something else, _domina_?"

"Not for now," she answers. " _Meum gladiatorem voca_."

The girl nods, bows her head and exits. Regina covers herself with a simple white garment. She leaves the leather belt on the chair – it's completely useless right now. The grapes taste like rich wine on her tongue, her finger goes up to curl a lock of her hair. It's long, now – long to the curve of her back, as it should be, but it's not braided as always. Pompeii doesn't need a perfect _matrona_ , after all.

She waits. The sun shines outside, sun of this month of summer, and she stretches, perfectly content as she is. Until, the knock she was waiting for comes. "Yes," she answers, sounding bored.

"You asked for me, _domina_."

His voice. It washes on her like a balm, and she briefly closes her eyes, with a small smile. She turns slowly. He's almost bare, her gladiator, from the waist up, he only has something to cover himself up. His skin shines of oil, his eyes shine of blue. And he's hers.

And – she is his.

"Yes. I did." She lifts up from her seat, slowly. "How are you? Are your quarters pleasant enough?"

"Yes, thank you," Robin answers, in kind. "But I don't think you called me here to discuss about Pompeii's lovely weather or the architecture of this palace," he smirks. Oh, he's good. He has her wrapped around his finger… a metaphor that will soon become reality.

"No, I didn't," she says. "I just thought…" she gets closer to him, not actually touching yet. "It would be nice to have some time for us, now that we are free to…"

She never ends the sentence, but he nods. He searches down for her hand, and brings it up to his chest. "Your wish is my command," he tells her. "You know, I have no qualms whatsoever."

"No, I know," she says, in a small voice. She retreats her hand, turns her back, walks over to her cup of wine and lifts it to her lips. That is the problem, isn't it? He is her slave, and he will do whatever she orders him to do. Is she better than her husband, after all? Of her filthy, disgusting husband who took her harshly on their first wedding night?

"Regina?" comes his voice from behind, uncertain. She purses her lips. He only uses her name when they're alone, when he doesn't have to call her _domina_ , whenever he can do so. It gives them something of normalcy she's not used to.

Her hand curls around the balcony rail. "It's nothing," she murmurs. "I only wish you did this because you wanted to, not because I force you." Gone is the peace from minutes ago. It's incredibly frustrating how a simple sentence from him can change her mood completely.

"Regina," he calls to her. She feels him come closer, and surround her waist from behind. "Never think, not even for an instant, that I don't want this – what we have."

"But what if, one day, you don't?" she asks. "I could have you killed."

"If so, I will tell you – and I don't think you'd have me killed," he places his chin on the crook of her shoulder, tilts his head to kiss her neck. She sighs, at the sensation. "Come to bed, my darling."

"You have your way with words, I have to admit," she murmurs, her eyes closing. "I was yours at the first word… in fact," she adds, turning to look at him in the eyes, "I don't think I ever told you… you know that, by law, you belong to me," she quickly says, before the courage leaves her, "but my heart belongs to you."

He looks at her with that gaze of affection that makes her weak in the knees. His thumb strokes her cheek, slowly. "Have I stolen that too, then?"

Hearing him speak so freely of the reason behind his captivity pains her, but she shakes her head, leaning in the palm that cups her cheek. "You can't steal something that's been given to you."

He smiles. "You are the real poet here," he compliments, making her blush. He pecks her lips, gently. "Come to bed…"

"Alright," she concedes. He smiles, as if she's just gifted him with something invaluable, and takes her hand. Her bed is still undone, white sheets all crumpled, so Robin strips it off until there's only the mattress left. She hums, biting her lip, excitement rapidly building as she watches him. "What do you plan to do?"

Robin smiles, turning his head to watch her. "That's for me to know," he teases. He lifts up to kiss her again. Whispers against her lips. "… and for you to find out."

"Tempting," she answers, with a murmur that she hopes doesn't give away this feeling of great expectations she has. After all, he _is_ great. He cares for her – even during the roughest of experiences, he always checks on her. He's imaginative. During the time he's belonged to her, she's let him take her in a _lot_ of ways.

"Not as tempting as you," he says. She doesn't miss the way his eyes skim over the curve of her breasts. And, most importantly, she doesn't miss the noticeable bulge of the piece of clothing covering him. Regina looks at him one moment, then brings a hand up to the lace of her garment. She does it slowly, releases the knot, his eyes fixated on her as he watches. She reveals her body inch by inch… he moans appreciatively when she uncovers her breasts, she can tell he already wants her.

Before letting him see her lower half, she tiptoes to kiss his lips. And then she climbs up the bed, lies down, still half covered, smirks at him. "Your turn," she nods at him.

His grin is wide as she climbs up next to her, brings a hand to her hair and kisses her. "Regina," he murmurs. His hands roam her back, pressing her against him, her hair. "Gods, you're a wonder."

She closes her eyes, giving in to his kisses. At the same time, she lets her hand go down, finding him hard against her thigh. The cloth he's wearing is entirely appropriate for a hot summer day, and yet she knows exactly how to untie it, even in her state of current… distraction.

As soon as he's free, her hand curls around his length. She pumps once or twice, making him groan in pleasure. He is panting, and she smiles, entirely entranced with the effect she can have on him. Robin lowers his lips to her neck, sucks her skin – they are, usually, against any kind of mark on their skin for fear her husband would notice, but not today. Today she lets him mark her, because that's perfectly in tune with what she has planned for them.

"Robin," she sighs, her hand curled around his shoulder. "I want you to…"

"Tell me," he pleads.

She shifts, distancing herself from him to look at him. "I want to be yours today," she says. "Please. I want to forget the world and to come so hard I'll pass out…"

He nods slowly, never leaving her gaze. "Do you trust me with this?"

"Always." Her reply is certain. " _Your_ wish is my command now."

"Very well, lovely," he smiles, again with that look that has her so enamored. "If you really wish so, let's start with removing your clothes, shall we?" Regina nods, biting her lower lip, sees him sit and take the edge of her garment between his fingers. He caresses her thigh, his hands sending shivers up her skin.

His other hand palms her breast, titillates her nipple, already hardened with the stimulation he's providing. In seconds, they're both bare, Robin throws away her dress. His mouth nears her breast, taking the tip inside, and sucking gently. Regina lets out a low moan. He does this… he starts slowly, to melt her to a puddle of nothing, and then he's more rough, but she doesn't want slow today. "More," she begs.

Robin smiles against her skin. "Do you really want to get down to it now?" he asks. "I was hoping to go slow with you, ease you into the things I've planned… and of course, don't forget I dictate the rules today."

"Alright," she concedes. "How do you want me?"

"Lie down," he instructs. "Spread your legs."

He's going with a classic, Regina thinks, as she complies to his command. He's always loved to have her like that. Robin lowers down, a palm pressing on the curve of her ass. His hand trails on her skin to reach her clit. Her eyes are on him as he observes, he valuates. Then, he tells her, _Stay still_ , and lifts up, and down the bed to reach one of her silk belts. "I want you to completely focus on this," he announces. Returns there with her and one hand slides under her head, cradling it up. He passes the cloth around, and she finds her vision impaired as he ties it down.

"I have to say, I'm pleased with this arrangement," she says, his hand cups her cheek briefly before losing contact. She feels him lower down between her thighs, and he chastises, "I believe I told you to spread your legs, love."

"Sorry," she tells him, with a grin, and opens them. The bed moves, the mattress sinks with the shift of his body. She feels his fingers, pressing on her, stroking her _there_ , and a well-known wetness pools between her legs but doesn't leak yet.

He strokes once again, circling the little bundle with soft touches. "Tell me, Regina," he whispers. All sensations are amplified by the cloth that makes her blind, so his whisper affects her as if he's murmuring words in her ear. "Tell me how it feels like. Don't stop speaking – not even when you're about to come." He definitely lowers down, now. His stubble is pressed lightly between her legs. "And don't forget, ask me if you can come."

She expects the moment, but the feeling of his tongue on her clit is surprisingly intense. She moves her leg, slightly, her eyes closing beneath the cloth. "It's… oh," she lets out. "I can feel you – your tongue on me, and – it's so good," she sighs. It's only the start of that building sensation, but already delicious. "I feel your hands – your fingers on my skin, and one hand there in my core, your fingers, and your tongue is – " she whimpers, her thighs already trembling. "Oh gods, please," she moans, forgetting about the orders he's given her, because his tongue against her is just too delightful…

Her eyes roll, her fingers clenching the mattress as Robin laps at her juices. He has sped up the pace… She attempts another frantic description of what she's feeling, her hand between his hair. "It's – mmm – oh, so wonderful," she says, "the way you're making me feel, don't stop – I'm just so close…"

He inexplicably slows down, lifting his head, and she knows he's watching her. "No," she moans. "Don't stop, please, let me come… please…" and it's almost like he wanted her there – to say it, so he resumes. She's nothing but a bundle of nerves at this point, a trembling mess of ecstasy and she wants it, she wants him – she wants more, more – "Please please can I now – I'm coming, please!" it exits like a shout, a unique string of choked words. Robin adds his fingers, substitutes his tongue with his fingers to stroke her.

She tightens around him, her insides clenching and fluctuating as she comes hard, her head thrown backwards, her back arched, arched against his hand. He goes on stroking, tells her _You're not done, love_ – her legs whimper again as she fights to distance herself from the delicious waves, but he continues. Regina screams, then bites her lip, as he doesn't let her get away – he keeps her in place with the other hand, keeps her thigh down and firm to make her come again – or maybe it's just a single, long cum, she doesn't know.

"Oh please!" she shouts, fighting, but he doesn't listen. She has asked for this, after all. He strokes her sensitive bud until she feels like she's gonna pass out. Her head bobs to the side, until finally, he lets her ride out that immense orgasm and retreats his fingers. She collapses back to the mattress, that is no doubt sporting a stain of her juices, and pants slowly, her heartbeat frantic against her ribcage.

She's vaguely aware of Robin's hand coming up to her head, untying the knot and giving her back her sight. He caresses her hair, whispers, amused, _Are you alright?_  
She growls, eyes still closed, finds his hand and places it just above her breast, where her heart beats. "You did this," she tells him. "Look at how undone you made me."

"Only the best for you," he teases. She opens her eyes and cups the back of his head to kiss him. The kiss is feral, animalistic, her aggressive and him equally fighting her tongue, her nails scratching his back.

"Do you think of this when you're in the arena?" she asks, curious. His gaze stills, he looks at her. She gulps, asking herself if she's touched a sore spot. "Do you think of me? Of surviving, so that you can come back to me?"

He stays silent for a moment before answering. "I find out you are a very… _convincing_ way to remind myself to keep fighting," he says. "But… yes, I think of you. Often… I touch myself and I think of when I'll be able to have you again, to see you again, to hear your voice."

As he speaks, he moves on the bed, shifts so he can place himself behind her. He circles her with his legs, so that she's in the middle, and Regina represses a shiver as he speaks, low next to her. "I think of you always," he whispers. One of his hands cups her breast, his lips planting wet kisses on her neck. "Of having you for me, just for me, and to see you like this – naked, glorious in your beauty, no more pretty dresses and purple silks on your skin." His other hand descends to where she's still sensitive, and starts touching her. He gives her lazy strokes, but enough to have her writhe slightly, a low moan starting in her belly.

"Robin," she says in a whisper, like a prayer.

"I think of all the times I made you come for me – I made you kneel, or I kneeled for you, to give each other pleasure. I think of when," he inserts one finger, starts pumping with a slow motion, "when I have your lips around my cock, when I sink into you and you scream to the gods. How much do the gods envy us, Regina? Sometimes I think you're Venus herself…"

"Please," she moans – she literally came minutes ago, and he has her on the edge with his beautiful words and skilled fingers. "Take me – please, now…"

"Do you want me, Regina? Tell me what you want and it's yours," he promises, still moving inside of her, still tormenting her nipple in the best of ways.

"Fuck me," she exhales, "as you want, but do it… oh, gods…"

"As you wish," he immediately says. She trembles with excitement as he abandons her breast and retreats his finger. She watches, as he pads down the bed to her table, she hugs her knees as he selects a vial of oil from her collection. _Oh_. She has a subtle feeling of what's about to come.

When Robin climbs up the bed again, she chooses to use that look that drives him mad – those sultry eyes, which promise the best things, and he doesn't fail to fall in her trap. He kisses her again, devouring her mouth, biting her lip, giving her a taste of her immediate future.

When he breaks the kiss, she knows she's in for a treat.

"Turn around, on all fours," he commands. Regina tries to ignore the furious thumping of her heart as she complies, her hair cascading down like a curtain. His hand massages the cheek of her ass, his other hand presses against her thighs to spread them wider. He caresses her spine, a last gentle movement to check if she's alright. "May I go on?"

"Yes," she says, adjusting herself on the mattress, her hands going to press on the headboard. The first feeling of her oils on her skin is weird – as always, he draws circles around her hole, and she clenches at the wood. She did give him full control, after all, and she may not like the start, but she rather likes it when he's inside her, when she's so full…

"All right?"

"Robin, I promise," she says, her head turning to look at him, even for a rapid glance. "If I'm not alright I'm going to tell you right away… oh." The feeling of his finger is… pleasing, even if a bit sudden, but still likeable, as she shifts to accommodate him better. " _Oh_ , this is good," she moans.

"You like it?" he asks, his voice low and primal. "More?"

"Yes – yes, please," she nods, curling her hands around the headboard. "I want you…"

The oil spreads on her cheeks, some of it leaking down her legs as she waits for him to enter her. He's still hard – he didn't have the chance to come yet, she can feel his length pressing on her thigh now. She closes her eyes, breathing slowly, as she has him open her some more. She's so lucky, she thinks. He's so attentive, always looking out for her pleasure, always caring – his hand grips her hips, and Regina bites her lip. This is her least favorite moment, but despite his promises to go rough, he slides in gently, careful not to hurt her. When he'll start moving, however…

"Yes," she pants. "Go on…"

He pushes some more, and she grits her teeth. That hurt a bit – _more oil_ , she requests. He abandons her hips promptly to pour some, just the right amount to finally fill her… "Wait," she asks, her eyes closed. He knows she needs a moment, he stills, as she breathes, adjusting to the feeling of him inside. "Alright," she says after a bit, "do your best," she teases him.

She can feel him behind her, he was in need of some seconds too, as he tries not to come already. The temptation must be great – she knows he'll hold on, however. When he starts pushing, she quickly takes the rhythm along with him. He makes her feel so full – it's different from when he's inside of her properly, this is… different, it feels dirtier, she feels bold and she rocks against him.

Skin slaps on skin as he fasten his pace, grunting above her, she moans loudly and her hands abandon the headboard to clench the sheets. He pushes with one hand on her back, forcing her to bow down, and oh. This hits another spot, changes the angle, Regina lets out a scream – "Oh gods Robin, yes, more, yes!"

"Are you gonna come like this?"

"Oh fuck yes – yes, fuck me, _please_ – "

He grinds against her with more strength, and she knows her butthole will feel terribly sore tomorrow, but she couldn't care less. His hand curves around her hip, his other hand takes hold of her hair.

"Oh, YES!" she screams, as he rides her, she bites her lip so hard she bleeds.

"Gods Regina godsimgonnacome" he says, too far gone, "touch yourself, touch – "

"No," she says, "no – I already did –" and she doesn't need to, she'd rather have him pound on her and come, "please Robin come on me, please –"

He doesn't answer, but she feels him clench his hand around her as she fists the sheets, and then the warm sensation of him into her, him finally giving in. "Yess," he murmurs, "oh gods you're a wonder, you're amazing –"

Regina's head bobs down, her breath exiting in exhausted puffs. She didn't come, but she's still so close – so she asks. "May I, can you touch me, I wanna – "

"Yes," he says, then takes the oil behind her, pours some on his palm to smoother his exit. He slides out slowly, Regina holding her breath until he's out, then rolling down to her stomach and on her back. "Spread your legs, lovely," he tells her. She's so close she can already taste her orgasm, so she complies.

"Touch yourself," he says, and she starts rubbing the sensitive spot as he pushes two fingers into her. it doesn't take much, and she's soon writhing on the bed, him holding her chin so she doesn't look away from him as she comes hard, moaning her pleasure to the sky. Her hand falls limp to her side afterwards.

She realizes, just now, the state she's into – disheveled, naked, oily, tired, incredibly at peace with the world. Robin comes to lie next to her, props his head up with one hand. "You alright?" he asks, smiling at her as the caring lover he is, and she nods.

"I am," she smiles back, lifting her head to kiss him. "I missed you so much…"

"Likewise," he tells her. "You, my darling, are the best thing that's ever happened to me." She feels moisture sting at the corners of her eyes, when he says it, and turns her head to the other side. He reads her, however, as he always does so well, like they were born from the same star. "What's wrong?"

Regina wipes away the lonely tear that escaped her eyes, and answers. "Nothing's wrong," she admits, with a soft voice. "I just – I, never thought I'd have this. Something like… us. I don't want it to end, ever."

He nods, his thumb stroking her cheek. "You will have me around for a long time," he promises. "And as soon as we can, we will start a new life, together. Here or in the Elysium, my love. Never doubt that."

"Alright," she says, whispers, as Robin kisses her lips and his hand tangles in her hair. He kisses her, and she forgets the future for a moment, a glorious moment where the universe is gone and they're the only thing that matters. He has showed her the stars, and she will never look back again.

.

.

 _In 79 AD, at around 1 pm of the 24_ _th_ _of August, Mount Vesuvius erupted in one of the most catastrophic disasters of ancient history. It destroyed various cities around the mountain, burying about 17 thousand people. Only 1,500 remains of bodies have been found.  
Between those remains, there were interesting examples of particular situations. Curled up, holding hands, children, lovers: surprised during moments of their lives by the deadly wave. _

_Forever still, forever remembered._


	49. horizon

_A/N: seventh entry for OQ prompt week, Sunday._  
 _1\. Friends with benefits._

* * *

 **Horizon**

She slowly readies her tools, in that religious silence that always precedes one of her evenings on the balcony. The sunset is very promising, tonight. No clouds, the sun is going to go straight into the sea, everything will be aflame, red and yellow and orange. Maybe a bit of pink.

Regina exits from her bedroom, takes the colors and her brushes, and places them all above the little wooden table she keeps outside. The sunflowers she has got yesterday are still there in their vase. I should change their water, she thinks. Later. For now, she sets the easel and the canvas. She has still time, though, the sky is light blue. Maybe half an hour, maybe a little more.

A very familiar cough comes from her right. She smiles, doesn't turn, keeps arranging her things. "Hey, stranger," she says, with that fondness she has only for him. "How is life?"

"Boring," he answers. She steals a glance of him – as she predicted, he's in his favorite position: on the armchair he keeps there, legs up and crossed, reads a book with a glass of wine next to him. "Are you waiting for the sunset?"

"Mm," she answers. She's pondering, choosing a pencil from her collection, to draw the general lines before the sunset starts. "There's still some time to go, though."

When she has chosen this flat, high at the 20th floor, she couldn't have imagined she would find such a wonderful friend there. They share a balcony, there is only a small wall to divide their places. At start, she rather disliked him – but then he's let her stay at his when her heating broke down in January, and… well… things have taken an interesting turn.

Friends with benefits, it's their mutual rule. The sex is great, and they don't want to ruin a great friendship with couple-y things. He cares for his independence, Robin, and she does too. They don't do romantic gestures, they do… stuff. Together. Movies, meals. Evenings like this one where she paints and he reads. Cinema. Friends, they are. Just friends. Things work.

But that is, perhaps, just a lie Regina keeps telling herself. Things work. Things work, with no kissing, no hands-holding. If she stays away for the night, he doesn't ask. If he brings a woman home, she just… puts on earphones and muffles out the sounds. Things work, splendidly. Then why does she almost cry in the bathroom every time he leaves her home after they've fucked?

"Regina?"

He must have asked something. She turns at him, surprised. "What is it?"

"You okay?" he tilts his head. "You're flushed."

"Yes," she says, lying. "What did you say?"

He gulps, noticeably embarrassed that he has to repeat the question. "I said… what do you think if we spend the time we have left before the sunset… otherwise engaged?"

She's confused, for a minute, until he raises an eyebrow. Oh. _That_.  
"Oh – okay," she shrugs. He smiles, fondly, with that smile that had her convinced the first time they did this. "My place or yours?"

"Open the door," he says, gets up from the chair. "I'll be right there."

.

He is in love with her. With every single, adorable, invaluable detail of her. From the way she bites her lip to the way she always complains that she's out of blue to paint the sky. Worst thing is, she doesn't even imagine it. She's poised, Regina, reasoned, wouldn't get her feelings involved in their friendship. As she opens the door, he finds her without sweatpants, in her oversized sweater, eyes looking down at the phone. "I'm setting an alarm for the sunset," she explains.

"Okay," he shrugs. "I've bought two beers."

"The Belgian one I like?"

"The very same."

"Wonderful," she says, sounding very distracted as she walks towards her room. He follows, stops by the fridge to push in the beers, and then enters. Regina is already in her bra, gathering her hair in a ponytail. She glances at him, says, "So?" and Robin realizes he's very much dressed. So he quickly unbuttons his trousers, they pool on the floor along with his shirt, and follows her up on the bed.

There is a moment of stillness. Then Regina demands, _Kiss me_ , almost a plea. It's… unlike her. She is, usually, more respondent and involved. But Robin complies, they don't do this often, the kissing, but sometimes it gets things going, it's an easy start.

Regina, though, stiffens in his arms, presses her lips against his, moans into the kiss, and then parts from him. "I'm sorry," she says, her eyes wide, almost… frightened. "I can't do – I can't anymore," she tells him, her voice about to break, a first tear rolls down her cheek. She pushes herself down the bed, towards the bathroom, slams the door, a key turns in the hole before he can even reach the edge of the bed.

"Regina!" he screams. His hand slams on the door, but there's no use. He places his forehead against the wood. Muffled sounds come from the other side. "Regina, please," he whispers. Somehow, he knows she hears him. "Please. Whatever it is, we'll talk about it, but open up."

He waits. And waits. He even sits, his back against the door, like in the fucking scene from _Frozen_ , and talks to her. "I'm still here. I'll wait for you, until you're ready, but I won't go away. Not unless you tell me to."

.

She makes him wait.

It's unfair to him, but she cries a river, and then she has to wait some time to be presentable again. And then he says one of those uplifting sentences and she cries again. He can't see her like this. Except he can, because against her best instincts, she finally opens the door.

Her eyes are dry, and he stares at her, worried, expectantly.

"I can't do this anymore," she blurts out. "Because it hurts. Every time I pretend that – that I'm okay with being your pastime, it hurts. And I don't – don't want to l-lose this. Lose you." She realizes she's crying again, but who cares. He'll go away from her anyway, he'll –

"Regina," he starts, with that annoyingly calm voice.

"Wait," she murmurs. "I haven't finished." He waits, for her to gather up the nerves to speak. "I – I don't want to lose you, but if – if you're… you don't want… all of me, and not just the fun parts, I'm going to have to ask you to step away," she says.

"Regina," he takes one step towards her, cradles her face in his palms. "I absolutely want all of you, my dearest," he says, calm, serious, like this is the most important matter of his life. "I've never wanted anything else. I want to be with you. But… for real."

She tries to shake her head, one last hiccup, trying to understand what he's saying. "So you… you really…"

"You're not just my best friend," he tells her, and now, now she believes. He thumbs away a tear. "You're the one, Regina."

She doesn't need anything else. She kisses him like she's never kissed him before, they laugh in the kiss, when it breaks, their foreheads touching, she cries and laughs at the same time, the immense relief washes over her soul like a balm. They stumble back on the bed, she pushes him towards it, peppering kisses on his face, his hands tangling in her hair.

In that moment, her alarm rings. He stills, under her, but then laughs, when she launches herself towards the nightstand to shut the phone down. "Screw it," she murmurs, glancing at the horizon. One of the most beautiful sunsets ever, and she's missing it, she thinks, kissing him – but for a very good reason.


	50. not what it seems

_A/N: this is set in the Iridescence verse, but can be read as a stand alone. set in the missing year, a lil angsty._

* * *

 **Not What It Seems**

"Oh, you are awake. Always nice of you to join me, sis."

Zelena's mocking voice rings in her ears, hostile, annoying. Regina lifts her head, slowly, taking in her surroundings. She is in a dungeon – lovely, all things considered, especially now that she was thinking a life without her sister's green obtuseness was even possible. Her wrists and ankles are chained, unsurprisingly, and she sighs, spotting that black cuff that has neared her own undoing once already, once upon a time near the docks.

"What do you _want_ , Zelena?"

Her voice is tired, exhausted. There isn't fear, in her weak murmur. Maybe a hint of curiosity, to know how Greenie has managed to whisk her away from the woods she was in to this poor excuse of a dungeon. A subtle sense of guilt slithers in her mind, when she remembers of Roland and the story she has promised him this morning.

"Oh I thought we could have a little chat, at first," Zelena says, a glint of madness in her eyes. "But then I thought of the most exciting game for us! We are going to play a bit, dear sis," she whispers, leaning close to cup Regina's cheek.  
Regina moves away, retreats towards the dirty wall, her midnight blue dress now splashed with mud and disgusting unidentified other amenities.

"Just do whatever you want to do and let's get over with it," she growls.

"You don't want to play a bit? That's a shame… but alas, I'm the elder sister, and I get to decide," Zelena replies, sickeningly sweet. "So have fun, little sis! I really hope you survive this so we can play again soon. You should have never gone to the forest alone – but you love the forest, don't you?" she gets closer, Regina can feel her breath against her skin. "Good luck!"

With a cackling laugh, she snaps her finger, and then Regina is engulfed in green smoke, and the dungeon disappears.

.:.

The Princess is at the balcony, when Robin enters the throne room. He reads concern on her features, her hand resting on her swollen belly. He can see the necklace around her neck – the gemstone he has helped to steal is hidden between her breasts, working, healing, its magic just another reminder of Regina's absence.

"I am sure she will return soon, Your Highness," he offers. Snow turns, with a grateful, teary smile.

"I know," she nods. "Still, I am worried. It's not unlikely, from her part, to be gone for such a long time, but I can't help but worry every time. Regina is… she doesn't love the company of others very much," she sighs. "I am sure you noticed."

"Indeed I did," he confirms. It is lovely, this concern the Princess has, but for once, he is not worried. Regina has been away for longer, and she's always come back to them (to him), with flowers and herbs and funny-looking stones for Roland. She will return. (She has to. He cannot imagine the alternative.) "But she knows how much we all care. She wouldn't put herself in danger on purpose."

"Yes," Snow agrees, her eyes still lingering on the green sea of the forest. "But there are dangers lurking –"

The door to the throne room slams open in that precise instant, cutting the Princess' words. The Prince enters, cheeks red and puffing breaths of excitement.

"A white doe!" he exclaims. "Young Jake spotted a white doe lingering where the woods begin, and – oh, this is such a rare vision! In my life I don't think I've ever seen a white doe in this kingdom."

"I heard that it is a lucky sign," Robin confirms. He takes a step to reach the balcony, in hopes to spot the doe himself. "And that the man who hunts her will bring good fortune to his family for a long time."

"Oh?" Snow's brow furrows, her eyes darting from her husband to Robin, confused. "You… you want to hunt the doe? Now?"

"Why yes, my darling," David answers, leans in to kiss her. "Before the first snow falls, she'll be easier to spot. I say we should go now, Robin," he tells him. "While we know she's still nearby the castle."

"Absolutely," Robin agrees. "Let me just grab my weapons, and we can go – I shall call to my men too."

As he goes to exit, he catches sight of David whispering to his wife, _Don't worry, I am sure she is fine, she will be back soon. It's Regina, after all_. Robin smiles, thinking of how annoyed Regina will be when she'll know of Snow's fretting behavior. He goes to kiss his son goodbye, and to retrieve his bow.

.:.

If she could cry, she would.

If she could sink to the ground and hug her knees and weep until morning, she'd do it in a heartbeat.

But she can't.

Instead, she runs.

The forest is blurry around her, spots of green and brown and black, the sky is white and bears promises of snow. Regina runs, runs for her life, already out of breath after too little time. Sounds and colors have changed – amplified, diminished, her heart pumping blood with an imperative strength she's never experienced before. It has to be early afternoon, but she doesn't know for sure – she is not certain of who she is, right now, as she runs, she roams titles in her mind – _Regina, the Queen, mother (I was a mother, I was), mayor, friend, enemy, ally, lover (I was, I want to be again), Regina, wife (never again), prisoner, mother…_ _daughter… sister._

Right now all impulses are dominating her mind.

Run.

Eat.

Sleep. (Later.)

Drink.

Escape.

The woods are home, comforting, but dangerous, potentially fatal. Death awaits around every corner, she sees danger and eyes everywhere, things that kill and wound, things that heal and grass and she – has – to – live, it's imperative, every single muscle and bone of her body is tensed towards it – living. Just another minute, just another hour.

The cuff claws at her skin, and Regina runs, the outskirts of the woods, the castle in sight. If she could just find someone. Anyone. Someone to help.  
How cruel, to make sure that her mind would stay exactly the same, while she runs. How gentle it would have been, to made her die without memories of her life as Regina.

She hears them before she sees them.

It's a hunting party – four or five of them, with two dogs, and her body tenses towards them, hopeful. As if they're the solution to her riddle, her dilemma. They liberate the dogs, and just then she realizes how foolish she's been until now.

Her back turns, and she's never been more scared in her life.

She runs.

.:.

Being on a horse has always been a delight, in his life. From when he's been taught how to ride to the most recent escapades with the Queen, he has always enjoyed those moments of wind and speed, and today is no exception.

The Prince holds himself with the regal composure of a royal, his men are more practical, posture doesn't mean a thing when you can sacrifice it in exchange for velocity. Still, young Jake has the eyes of hawk as he spots, again, their prey between the trees. He's able to look at the doe for a long moment before she turns, becomes a white spot, smaller and smaller. David has freed the dogs, they start running like a couple of hellish beasts.

"I'd hide, if I were that doe," Alan laughs, as they ride towards the woods. "How about a bet, men?"

"What's the prize?" Jake asks, always eager to prove himself.

"Usually, the best hunter gets the finest cut of the animal's meat," David says, his voice almost lost in the wind. They reach the end of the clearing, the dogs' howling get closer. "Good luck, everyone," he says, with the finality of a general who cheers on his troops before battle.

They split, trying to surround the doe, Robin goes to the left, pushes his horse to an high pace. "Come on, my friend," he incites. He can see her – she is fast, but small, she can't compete with their horses' longer legs.

He has never liked hunting that much – not as much as the prince does, anyway, but it has been needed in these years, to provide food. The fact that this particular doe is such a rare specimen has its perks, but he mostly agreed to participate just to distract himself from the thoughts of Regina.

Before the Queen's image can distract him, he focuses. The last thing he needs now, is to be impaled by an arrow because he couldn't keep up with the group.

The doe is closer, now, and he can see his companions too. They have indeed managed to surround her, all skilled hunters that they are. The dogs have stopped at the Prince's command, they are tense and ready to spring into action at any moment now. Robin slows down, his horse comprehends the depth of this moment – the most important, where they cannot frighten the animal.

His men are more distant – he is, probably, the closest one, so he dismounts, his bow ready in his hand, an arrow ready between his fingers. The doe is still, her eyes wide and terrified as he walks slowly towards her. He knows that if she escapes, one of the others could easily capture her, but all odds show that he will, most likely, be the one who gets the prize.  
He glares at a quick movement of her ear, a quick twitch of her leg, but she's still. Weirdly so. He doesn't make noise as he approaches his prey. Oh, you are so beautiful, he thinks. The white of her fur is fascinating – he has always known these white creatures to live in colder climates, in Arendelle perhaps.

Robin throws a rapid glace at David, who nods. He needs to do this, now, or he will lose his chance. Still… there is something unnerving about this animal. The way she watches him. He has never seen such wisdom in an animal's eyes.

He readies the arrow on his bow. Lifts it, inhales, exhales, inhales. Old simple rules for archery. Breathe. He is one instant away from releasing the arrow, when the something happens.

The doe bows at him.

She sinks to her knees, her head going slowly down, a spot of immaculate white on autumn grass. Robin holds his breath. His arrow doesn't leave his hand.

He feels the first snowflake twirl and rest on his skin. The first snow has come, finally.

And then, in a heartbeat, the world is completely still. The men surrounding the doe, Robin with his bow still lifted to kill, and the doe who watches him with brown eyes.

He has seen that brown before.

Hell gets loose, when the moment breaks, and suddenly there is noise, there is the painful wail of the doe, and Robin hears himself scream _No!_ , but it's too late. A second too late. Young Jake is impulsive, and he has indeed done what Robin couldn't. And now his arrow protrudes from the doe's side – he hasn't got to her heart, thankfully. But she falls, and her head hits the whitening ground.

Then, there is a green, vicious smoke that surrounds her, slow, painful, and he lets his bow fall to the ground at the sight that meets him, when the smoke clears.

 _Regina_.

She's on the ground, on the exact spot where the doe was, her blue dress pierced by Jake's arrow just above her hip. She's breathing slowly, raven hair splayed around, already punctuated by white spots of ice.

He's never run faster. He reaches her in two breaths, sinks to the ground next to her, his hand palms her wound and when he lifts it, it's covered in blood.

"Regina," his voice cracks, her head turns, a ghost of a smile and a tear falling from her eyes.

"Robin?"

He's only partially aware of the voices and bodies that surround them, of David kneeling at their side, of Jake's screams. He's only aware of the woman lying beside him, who's holding on to his hand and crying her fear and desperation. He could easily succumb to his worry too, but instead, he cradles her head, whispers.

"You're going to be alright, milady," he tells her, encouraging. "You just have to heal yourself…"

"I – I'm not," she spouts the words with great difficulty, clenches her hand around his. "Don't – magic," she breathes, her ability to speak deeply impaired.

He doesn't understand – she doesn't have magic, he doesn't want to understand, because a world without Regina in it is a world he has no interest in, how, _why_ doesn't she have magic?

David is frowning, next to him, he's taken hold of her other hand, muttering something, but Robin doesn't listen. He keeps her close, wipes away her tears, careful not to jostle the arrow still in her skin. He's vaguely aware of the snow, the timid flakes on the ground, and he sees David take his stiletto, and instinct kicks in.

"What are you doing?" he protests, enraged. He can't believe that the heroic prince would even consider the possibility of ending her sufferings with a single move, there has to be a way…

"Calm down," David answers, lifts her hand, the one that Robin is not holding. He spies Regina nod, something akin to relief in her eyes. He watches, fascinated, as David slides the stiletto's blade between her wrist and a black cuff there, a cuff he's never seen, but clearly, the prince has already. The cuff falls to the ground with a swirl of green smoke.

"Heal yourself," Robin pleads, now that it is clear that her magic has returned. She blinks once, slowly, a cough bringing blood to her lips. He does not care, he lowers his head and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Please," he tells her.

Tears are still glistening in her eyes as he lifts her hand to the wound. "This will hurt a bit, I am sorry," he apologizes. She nods, bites her lip, he curls his hand around the arrow. In a swift jerk, it comes out, Regina screams her pain to the sky. He squeezes her hand, presses it above the cut – he prays she knows of healing magic. The world stills as grey, luminescent light sprouts from her fingertips, he continues to hold her, keeps her hand in place and waits, her breaths more labored and tired as that little energy she had goes into the healing.

When the light subsides, she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and leans on him, spent. Now, it's finally his turn to let go of his emotions. They'd been so close… He'd been so close to losing her.

"Oh, Regina," he murmurs against her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"I was so scared," she whispers. Her hand tightens on his, his heart clenches. "My sister…"

"I know, darling, I know," he tells her. "I should have been more careful, I should have come and search for you…"

He feels her cry quietly, and it breaks him. He shifts slightly, to shield her from the others, but thankfully, they leave them space, they leave them be. Snow falls around them, the world becomes white, but he's calmer now. She will heal. She will be alright.

He hears David speak about someone going back to retrieve a carriage, about other useless matters that don't concern him – as long as he can feel her warmth and her breaths – Regina shivers, and it occurs to him that she must be cold, she is in need of a bed and of rest, so he speaks.

"She can ride with me," he decides. She nods, her eyes still closed, he knows she's growing more tired every moment. But then, it doesn't matter. She is alive, and they will defeat her sister. For now, he rejoices that she is safe. The rest, it is for tomorrow.


	51. luna

_So this is my contribution to the 13 Spooky OQ Days, for day 7: full moon. It's some kind of HP au; i hope you don't mind ;)  
i... don't know if it will actually be scary; but i tried!  
and a million thanks to Nina for helping me with this; it would be waaay much crappier without her help. _

* * *

**Luna**

.

.

 _some wars can't be won  
only survived_

.

.

When she had married him, she _knew_ it would get to something like this, one day.

A happy life with tranquil falls, orange leaves and hot chocolates in front of the fire just wasn't in the cards for her.

How could have she been so stupid, to hope she could have that?

The floor is cold underneath her. The air is so quiet she can hear her blood drip down. _Splash_. _Splash_. A slow trickle. She breathes, _in_ , _out_ , _in_ , _out_ , waiting. For what, she ignores. Death or salvation. The sky is pitch black, now, the shadow of light blue from this morning completely lost. She revisits that blue in her memory, plays with it, molds it into a blanket of stars and clouds until a smile pulls onto her lips.

Someone will find her. Dead or alive, she ignores. Still breathing, alive, but on the brink of death? A monster? Transformation tickles her limbs, those legs she almost doesn't feel anymore, those cuts that have been added out of impulses of deranged wickedness. Maybe they'll find her dead? Pale limbs on a bed of leaves, eyes too tired to close?

Will they find her?

Her enemy should be gone, by now. But maybe he's still fluctuating between life and death, too – maybe he still has people of his kind, lingering around, seeking vengeance. The ones who helped him.

A sudden shiver runs through her veins, like ice. Her family is not in danger, aren't they? A strangled sound exits her throat. _Please, anyone, please_ , she begs in her mind. The sky is blue, black, not one star in sight. _Pity_ , she thinks – her thoughts float like lost caravels in a sea of nonsense. _Pity, I like stars_. There is a bit of wind now. Caresses her useless skin, sends whispers through the trees of the forest. A raven caws, determined to bring its monition to the world.

The moon shines above her. It's the last thing she sees before closing her eyes.

.°.

Her day had started well enough. She was at the Ministry for most of the morning. She has spent many, many hours hovering over their new case. David was restless – after all, his wife is pregnant and he doesn't like to leave her alone for too many hours, not after she's been on bed rest for some time because the baby was in danger. So she has told him to go home for tea, at five, and then she had been alone, staring at the wooden board with pinned articles and moving pictures.

Regina slumps in her chair, her hands massaging her temples. A deep sigh, and she closes her eyes. Damn it. This case has proven itself to be more difficult than she thought, and she is an Auror with a decennial experience. God knows what would have happened if they'd given it to her intern. They do that, sometimes – that's a particular detail she doesn't like of the British system. The American one was simpler – as they sometimes cooperate with the police, interns are most likely infiltrated there rather than in the government's administrative offices.

Well, she married and came here for love, she thinks. Her eyes skim to the framed photograph on her desk. Her husband and their son, their smiles wide as she leans in to kiss Henry's cheek. They look so happy, in that moment.

Maybe she should just go home to them. She should… maybe… one hour, she decides. One hour and she will, she will use the Floo powder to land on the carpet of her home and she'll brush the ashes off her cloak, and kiss Robin hello and hug her son. She will.

There's the post from the morning to read, she notices, and grabs the first letter, distracted. But when she opens it, she screams.

.°.

"Where's Mommy?" Henry pipes up, his eyes still wide and awake despite Robin's best efforts to make him sleep.

"I'm sure she'll be here soon," he answers. A swift look to his pocket watch tells him it's almost nine, and she should be here already. Many hours ago. "Don't worry, bud. She's fine, but you know what Mommy does for work, right?"

"She fights bad guys!" Henry exclaims, his toothy smile melting just a little the tight knot in Robin's chest.

"Exactly," he answers, ruffling his hair. "I can read you a story, but then it's nap time, okay?" His son nods, eyeing the light blue book on his nightstand. "Which one?"

" _Babbitty Rabbitty_ , please," he asks so politely.

"Of course, why am I even asking," Robin muses. It's _always_ that one, at least until Henry tires of it and they can move on to _The Tale of the Three Brothers_. He opens the book – it's Regina's copy, her tiny scribbles still visible under the title. He checks on Henry, seeing if he's comfortable enough, and starts. _A long time ago, in a far-off land, there lived a foolish king who decided that he alone should have the power of magic…_

Henry gives in to sleep as he's ending the story, his quiet breaths so calming, and Robin watches him for a moment before getting up.

In the living room, he tries not to, but he does. He does check the clock – the one which tells you where the family members are. _Home_ , it says, for Henry and him. The hands with their names are one above the other, in a reassuring way. He expects Regina's to be pointing at _work_ or _travelling_ , but it doesn't. He watches with a frown – it says _lost_.

And while he's watching, it changes to _mortal peril_.

.°.

When she wakes, she's in a forest.

She recognizes this forest. She went here once for camping, because Robin was deeply in love with these woods and the river nearby; they held affectionate memories. The Forest of Dean, he called it. So she isn't that far from London, not really, she's near Bristol, but she still has to figure out how a simple letter managed to wipe her away from her office to… here.

She touches the pocket of her dress, and her wand is… not there. Maybe it has fallen, maybe it's somewhere around – without that, she can't disappear, or send a signal, or a Patronus. Panic starts to mount as she looks around for her wand – it feels like she's lost a limb, right now – and being without a wand is… unsettling, to say the least. Unnerving. She's a _great_ witch, she knows it, and she knows she can take down anyone or anything… if only she had a wand.

"Come on," she says, crunched down, her eyes skimming the terrain covered in leaves and mud. "Where are you?"

"Looking for this?"

A voice asks, from behind her. Her head turns so suddenly it spins. And right now, she's looking at the very object of months of research, the essence of her latest nightmares. A werewolf. Fueled by hatred and revenge, he has destroyed lives and families. And he's holding her wand between his dirty, chubby hands.

He slides it silently into his cloak. She's still staring, kneeled on the ground, hands caked in mud.

" _No more wands for wolfies. Bad, bad wolfies,_ " he singsongs. "Our game is more fair if you don't have one, Regina." He takes a few steps towards her. Their eyes are at the same level. "Do you want to play a bit with me?" His hands clap happily, a toothy smile on his face, then he lightly touches her cheek, and she has to repress a shiver of disgust at his dirty fingers, but she feels… weirdly calm. "I haven't played in _days_ …"

.°.

 _A month earlier_

"Sons of a bitch!"

Regina's gaze snaps up at Emma's voice, as her colleague enters her office. "Always so gracious, Miss Swan," she comments coolly. "What happened?"

"That psycho wolf killed another Muggle. In plain sight, at midday!"

Regina sighs, reaches out for another sip of her coffee. "And?"

"And they assigned _us_ the task, now," Emma breathes heavily, her anger pouring out as if she's a ticking bomb. "So it's not, like, a general duty of everyone here to be checking on his bullshit, but it's _our_ responsibility to take him down!"

"It's not like it changes anything," Regina arches an eyebrow. "I've already been pouring my soul on this case for months."

"Yeah, but…" Emma slumps down on a chair and passes a hand through her hair, with a tired look. "He gives me the creeps," she admits. "I've taken down Death Eaters and Dementors and Inferi – and this… _kid_ , he looks lovely, and yet he gives me the creeps every time I look at his picture on the wall, for heaven's sake."

Regina can't help it – she turns slightly and there it is, the adorable little child they're chasing. He looks positively handsome, his cute smile lightens up the picture. His blonde hair is neatly cut – it's a photograph from before of his transformation, and… who'd have thought a child would be more deadly than lots of adult wolves?

 _He doesn't control it_ , David has said once. _Adults know when to hide, when to take potions or chain themselves and wait for the moon to change. He… is dangerous, he's been trained by the Greybacks to cause the most damage he can, and he's not possible to tame. Now he's alone, and scared, and we have to stop him_. _Forever_.

.°.

"Of course I can stay with Henry," Mary Margaret tells him, her hand on her belly. She looks worried, a frown on her face, but it is nothing compared to the inner turmoil Robin is feeling right now. "You go, and… bring her home."

David looks at Robin, defeated. He has tried not to tell him what Regina was doing out there – _confidentiality obligation_ , he has said. But then, when Robin had shown him the clock, he'd changed his mind. "I knew it was dangerous," he tells him, "but I thought we were going to wait until we had all the intel."

"Yes, of course she would do that," Robin mutters. "She's always been too impulsive, and now she could be –"

"Let's go," David interrupts before he can say something irreparable. He gives one last kiss to Mary Margaret and follows him outside, to the brooms hut. "Robin, thinking it through… I don't know if you should come," he exclaims. "I can just ask for back up…"

"We don't have _time_ for back up," Robin spits. "My wife is in mortal danger, I don't know if you noticed." He pulls his wand out to open the hut. "And I may be on Magical Creatures now, but don't forget I was an Auror as well, back in the day."

"How could I," David sighs. "Okay then, let's go."

.°.

She is running through the forest, her heart thumping, wild. It's no use, she knows – he has the hearing of a wolf and its speed, he has her wand, and there's nowhere she can go without him finding her. The sun is down, now, the blue of twilight quickly replaced with the blue of night.

He can't turn yet, she thinks. Not yet. Not until the full moon is up, not until the night goes dark and the wolf comes out. Maybe she should let him win now. She's heard that a bite from an un-turned werewolf does less damage – she's heard of Teddy's uncle, Bill, who was bitten more than twenty years ago and still loves his steak rare, but that's it. And, the scars.

She should let him win now.

It appears her body has made its choice, because she has to stop – panting, her hands on her thighs, trying to gain some breath.

"Are you done running?" his voice pipes up from her side. "Is this a game you learned at Ilvermorny? Or Hogwarts? Can you teach me? It was funny!"

"Just end it, kid," she pleads. "Or give me my wand. If you really want to fight –"

"I don't wanna fight," he pouts. His hand slides into his cloak and takes her wand. She looks at it with longing, but knows she can't attempt to take it – he's swift, quick, he'd sense her movement before she's even started to think about it. "I want you to become like me so we can play together!"

Regina looks at him, horrified. What the hell did they tell this kid during his life? _I want you to become like me. Like me._ He's toying with her wand, a happy smile on his face, but isn't making any move to attack yet. And then she feels a weird little tug at her heartstrings, that looks suspiciously like tenderness. The maternal need to protect any children kicks in and she leans on, fully conscious of what she's doing, but unable to stop herself.

"Please, Aiden," she whispers, using his name for the first time. "Please don't do this. I know you're good, deep down," she continues. He's not listening – he's probably forgotten the touch of his mother since a long time. "If you give me the wand, and come with me, we can fix this. We can help you."

Still silent, he glances up at the sky. The moon is not out yet.

He's waiting to turn, she realizes.

She hasn't the time to blink, and she's flying backwards, her back slamming on the trunk of a tree. "I don't trust you, Regina," he answers, with a sad voice that squeezes her heart. "But you can wait there just a few more minutes, and then we'll play," he smiles. Black ropes of strong silk sprout out her wand, so she finds herself chained and struggling before she can protest.

"Aiden, please," she begs, tensing against the restraints, her voice full of fear. "Just let me go and I can fix this, I promise!"

He laughs. A ringing laugh that makes her shiver, because it sounds so… wrong, coming from the mouth of a child, and maybe it's not so smart to make empty promises, but… what does she have to lose?

 _Henry_ , a whispering voice says. _Robin. Home. Your life_.

She hushes the voice – she doesn't need to think of them right now, because she still wants to fight.

"Oh, Regina," he smiles sweetly, a glint of wickedness in his eyes. "It's so funny, how you spent months chasing me… and didn't realize _you_ were the chased one. They helped me, you know? It will be so nice when you're a wolf like me! But now," he lowers his tone, she sees his little hand squeeze her wand, "now you killed them! You and your friends killed my family! So I need a new family," he tells her, as if it's the logical consequence. "And I want you to be my family!"

Regina stills, paralyzed. Her palms are sweating, as he gets closer, uncovers his teeth. They're… sharp. Then, when he's standing inches from her, he stops. They both look up, through the trees to the black sky, and the clouds slowly moving around, to the pool of luminescent light in the middle.

He turns his back to her, and lifts his head, bathing in the moonlight.

Then it begins.

.°.

"I'm calling backup," David tells him, as he draws his wand out. A wordless spell and three Patronuses bloom out, his trusted sheepdogs, who run away to warn his colleagues. "We can't beat that monster _and_ save her, not on our own."

They found the envelope of a letter in her office – one addressed to Miss Mills, with a seal signed F.G.J., and immediately jumped on their brooms again, towards the forest. The letter inside was a Portkey, that much was clear, and thank heavens they could track the destination. _Magic really has improved in time_ , David has commented, gaining a glare from Robin.

The forest of Dean.

However they just had the name of the place, but finding Regina inside of the forest… was another problem entirely.

"The werewolf can wait, I want to find my wife," Robin says, more interested in his wand, which is now pointing towards her. "I hope this spell works. It's rather new – one of Regina's experiments – and… if it doesn't, I don't know what else we can do." He usually doesn't… particularly love Regina's magical attempts at new spells – one of them sent her to St Mungo's a couple of years ago – but this one is a new, improved version of the Four-Point spell, and it looks like it works.

"We don't know if he's alone or there's more of his kind," David reasons, as if he's talking some sense into a child. "Maybe we should split."

Robin smiles, shakes his head, and starts walking towards the direction the wand is pointing at. "Come on, man," he tells him. "Don't tell me you're scared."

"Aren't you?" David looks at him as if he's mental. "The kid took your wife thanks to Young Greyback's tricks, he's a psychotic eight-year-old who's managed to put a trained Auror into _mortal peril_ , and you're not scared, not even a little?"

After these words, Robin stops abruptly, and turns to face him. "I'm desperate, my friend," he confesses. "I cannot afford to be scared, right now."

"We will find her," David answers, his voice full of blind faith. "But… Robin, I haven't told you the whole story."

.°.

The wolf is… much bigger than she thought.

He stands on his legs, curved, uncovers his teeth in a growl. Regina watches, horrified, as the last inch of skin becomes fur. He throws his head back and lets out a long howl, a long painful screech straight from his throat. His cloak has fallen, and she sees the wood of her wand shine for a moment as the stick rolls out in the grass. If only she could take it…

But calling for a wand with the power of mind requires a particular skill she's only been able to master in… tranquil conditions. Certainly she won't succeed here, her mind screams, droplets of sweat mingle with cold shivers.

"Aiden…" she murmurs. He snaps his head towards her, his eyes narrowing in an ugly grimace. The cute boy from earlier is far gone. "Don't do this. You can choose to overcome your instincts," she talks to him, with the calm that comes from despair. "You can let me go and I will help you. You don't have to do this."

He growls. His head bows down – she'd think it's the recognition of wolves to their alpha, but that's not the case. He falls on his upper legs and snarls at her, drool pooling out of his mouth. She instinctively retreats against the trunk, but he paws closer, slowly, as if he knew she has nowhere to go.

A blow of his paw cuts the strings that hold her up, and his claws cut the skin of her arm in the process. She falls to her knees with a choked scream. Her wand is only inches away, she _has_ to take it.

He jumps to her – it lasts one instant, his paw pressed to her chest, her back pressed against the ground. She stretches her arm and her hand to her side, hoping, wishing with all her heart to finally grasp her wand. Still too far – her fingers struggle to reach it, she tries to roll over but he's too heavy, too strong...

Regina fights against his weight, her nails digging into the skin under his fur. He uncovers his teeth, growls lowly. Her breaths fasten their pace in fear, her eyes widen, and all of a sudden he's onto her, giving the first bite at her shoulder.

The scream that pierces the air seems to come from far away, and she doesn't immediately register it's coming from her. She punches at the wolf's throat, and Aiden retreats with a wail, suddenly out of breath. Her muscles move in a last, desperate attempt as she pushes with the bitten flesh to reach the wand…

.°.

"The whole story?" Robin stops abruptly in the middle of the woods, the light from his wand dancing against the trees. "What the hell do you mean with _the whole story_?"

David passes a hand through his hair, as if he's embarrassed. "A detail," he rectifies. "The werewolf is… a child, as you obviously know. But Regina wasn't supposed to be assigned to this case."

Robin's eyes narrow, his hand closes into a fist, and he has to sudden urge to punch him. "What?"

"During our training they find our weaknesses," David explains, and he knows, of course he knows. "And… Regina's was something like… her caring nature. When the people we fight…" he stops to gulp, perhaps reviving old memories. "When they seem to be weak or call to our deepest emotions, that's… that's where she fails. Because she would die herself, before hurting a child."

.°.

When she wakes, her throat is burning.

She hears herself humming in discomfort, the fire in her cuts burning like a dying sun, her head throbs and she gulps, blinking slowly before she feels strong enough to open her eyes. The sky above her is light blue – or – wait, it can't be – is it a ceiling, instead? – and there is a fresh hand on her forehead.

"Shh, darling, you're alright," a voice whispers above her. A voice she knows too well. "Take it easy, okay?"

Her words are pained and scratchy. "Where – what happened?"

"You're at St Mungo's, my love," Robin answers. He sighs. His face looks tired, relieved, but his eyes have that glint of worry she has come to know in the years. "It's over."

"Tell me," she pleads. She's battling against sleep, because she'd like to let go and close her eyes, but she can't. She wants to know the story. "Henry, is he…?"

"At home, sleeping," he asserts. "It's barely past dawn. I will tell you all, don't worry," he says. "The little wolf is gone. He died," he tells her, almost emotionless, but she can't help to let out a shaky breath of relief, and to feel guilt constricting her heart. "David and I found you and…" he looks away for a moment, overcome by emotions. "God, Regina. I never want to feel like _that_ again."

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. Because she is. She could have been harsher with Aiden, she could have knocked him down and took her wand and ended him herself. Instead she let her emotions flow and she let him lead the game, until it was too late.

Robin says nothing, because there is nothing to say. He leans in and presses a kiss on her forehead. She closes her eyes at the touch. She's afraid to ask the next question. "What happened to…?"  
Her hand gestures vaguely at her shoulder. The skin there is still painful, but the pain has dulled to a rhythmic throb.

Her husband doesn't speak right away. Instead, he averts his eyes, and takes a breath. "You… were bitten," he says. "And the Healers said… it's a… light version of lycanthropy."

Regina stiffens, gulps, feeling the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes. "W-what does it mean?"

"That despite the wolf's young age and being entirely turned, you… you were bitten, but he didn't reach your blood," he recites. "You only become a werewolf if the bite infects your blood, so… you'll have some scars, and other side effects, but…"

Her tears are leaking now, and his hand immediately reaches her cheek, his thumb swiping them away. "It's okay, lovely," he soothes. "We'll get through it together," his hand finds hers, and squeezes.

"You're not… disgusted?" she asks in a small voice she doesn't recognize. The heartbeat before he answers feels like it's the longest of her life.

"No," he assures. "I just think you're the bravest woman I've ever met. You're the bravest _person_ I've ever met, Regina."

"It certainly doesn't feel that way," she sniffs, but she can't help the smile tugging at her lips. "I feel so stupid."

"It wasn't your fault," he says, "I know it was a Portkey, and David told me all about the case. He didn't want to, though," he smiles. "But it wasn't your fault."

She shakes her head, her eyes fixated on their hands, but doesn't reply. "Can you kiss me?" Her eyes snap up to meet his. "Without side effects?"

"I think so," he tells her, with so much affection in his eyes that he makes her heart swirl and dance. Only when his lips meet hers, she starts to believe that maybe, he was right. Maybe with her family and with him she can overcome everything. No matter how many full moons she has to face.


	52. renegades

_A little something for OQ fix it week. Roni day._

* * *

 **Renegades**

.

"Goddammit!"

She curses when she feels the stinging pain of a cut in her skin, her hands coloring of red the water in the sink. Another glass broken – if it goes on like this, she's going to have to restock her furniture of glasses soon, she thinks. Her other hand goes up to her forehead, a deep sigh leaving her throat. To hell her clothes, she tells herself, as she lets her body slide down and she sits on the floor.

 _God, I'm just so tired_.

"You are bleeding," a calm voice says from her left. Roni jumps a little, startled, her eyes snapping up to meet his at the end of the counter.

"Mr Wood," she deflates, relaxing immediately when she recognizes him. Him again. He's here a lot, lately, usually in the mornings and in the late evenings. She wishes she could pretend not to know anything about him, but… she does. He works at the hospital, at the ER – and volunteers as a veterinarian in his spare time. Their banters at the counter have become legendary, between her regulars. But he's infuriatingly kind, Mr Wood, always smiling, even when she'd give a lung to go in the back of this place and have a good cry, even when she'd love to slap an annoying customer.

Sometimes, she catches him looking at her as if he knows her already. And that is weird, because she doesn't even know his first name. Not because he wouldn't tell her: because she doesn't want to ask. Roni sighs, rubbing her temple with her fingers.

"We… are closed, actually."

"Already… or still?" he jokes. She has to have a puzzled expression, because he lifts his phone to let her see the time. "It's five in the morning, milady," he unnecessarily informs.

"Oh," she nods. "I see."

"Are you alright?"

Her shoulders lump down, and just now she notices the pain her hand's in. "Of course I am," she raises her eyebrows at him. "And I still don't see why you're here. You know, I was…" her eyes dart around – from the almost dried glasses up on the counter, to the still not washed floor, to the empty bottles in a corner. "…just cleaning up, and we open in two hours."

Now that she's said it, she sees the madness in her sentence. It's just her with other two baristas, here, but she always takes the most of the hours, because well – it's her place, and she should. Not to mention she doesn't like not to be here when that stupid Victoria Belfry comes in. Or that pair of cops.

However, Mr Wood is still there, staring at her with something that looks like pity. "Do you have a first aid kit?" he asks, gentle.  
She doesn't like pity. She doesn't like that it feels like he's talking to a child. _Or maybe it's just me overreacting as always_ , she thinks.

"Yeah, in my office," she tells him. She motions up to get there, but he precedes her.

"You can stay there, it's best if you don't get up," he instructs. "You look like you could faint any moment now. When was the last time you've slept?"

Roni tries to think about it. Yesterday? It sure wasn't today. The day before that? "I don't know," she narrows her eyes at him. He just smiles at her, and goes, as Roni's head falls backwards against the wall. Her feet really hurt now, and it doesn't help that today she was wearing heels. Boots with low heels, but still.

He comes back after a few minutes. Much to her surprise, he washes his hands at the sink, and slumps down next to her, probably dirtying his trousers in the process. "Here we go," he says, taking her hand between his. "Does it hurt?"

"Less than my embarrassment about being found by _you_ of all people," she mutters. "Why are you here?"

"I was coming home, I had a night shift," he explains. _Oh yes, the hospital_. "And I saw you still in here, as always. So I thought I could convince you to go home a little earlier than eight in the morning, Miss Ramírez."

"I see," she sighs. He turns her hand in his – his own is warm, pleasant in a way, firm but still delicate, as she imagines it's normal in his job. Her cut really looks ugly, surrounded with soap and water, and he goes to clean her first of all. She doesn't look as the cloth is being dampened with blood, and it's stupid, for god's sake, it's just blood. But her head is spinning a little, the tiredness and exhaustion finally catching up with her.

He stops, suddenly, looks at her. "You alright?"

"Yes, don't stop," she murmurs. "Keep going."

"You know, that's a sentence that could be misunderstood," he smirks. Roni narrows her eyes, glances at his smug grin and hits his arm. He lets out an outraged " _Ow_!", and watches her with a scowl.

"Jerk," she murmurs.

"Couldn't resist," he tells her. "Sorry," he adds, a bit sheepishly.

Roni does an ankward _mmm_ , but nods at him to go on. He pours some alcohol on some cotton, and presses it gently on her hand. "It will sting a little," he says, too late now, because thank you so _much_ , she noticed.

"You don't need to stitch it up, right?" she asks, a bit tense.

"I can just put some bandages," he answers, thankfully, as if he knows exactly what she didn't say aloud, and doesn't want to taunt her for it.

Roni shifts, uncomfortable, when he starts to roll a white piece of fabric around her hand. She fixates her gaze to a stain of something green on the floor – it could be mint syrup, probably – and takes a breath while he works.

"There you go," he announces, a shade of pride in his voice. "Now please keep the hand at rest for at least a day."

She immediately looks at him at that. His eyes are kind and his face is completely serious, as if he's not joking. "You're kidding me," she protests. "I can't take a break from… this," she waves her healthy hand. "I can't," she repeats.

"You have to," he says, with finality in his voice. "Not only for your hand, but… staying awake for _days_ is going to roast your brain. Doctor's orders," he tells her, before she can protest further. "You can't kill yourself over a bar, Roni," he says. She hears… concern, in his voice. He is… worried about her?

She lowers her head, blinking furiously to chase away the stinging of tears in her eyes. "Why do you care about me?" she whispers. The green stain has become very, very interesting.

He doesn't answer, but his arm circles her shoulder. And – it must be her tired state, nothing else – she surrenders to the feeling of his warmth, places her head on his chest. Anything, to hide the red puffy thing her face must have become.

"Because you care for everyone," he answers, his voice low. "Because you take under your wing all the underdogs, all the unfortunate, and still have room to smile. Because you want to make people believe you're tough, but I've seen your soul, and it's incredibly kind. Because I don't feel like there is someone to care about you," he ends, simply, and now she really is crying.

Fat tears splash on his shirt, her face hiding against the fabric, and she prays her shoulder aren't shaking. He curls a hand around her shoulder and lets her be, in silence.

She just feels… drained. Even her tears come out difficultly, as if her brain can't process all the steps it would need to properly cry. She sighs, a muffled sound, against him. "I've never asked your name," she confesses. "You've been a regular from quite some time, and I only know your surname."

"I'm Robin," he answers, his thumb stroking slowly her upper arm. "Pleased to meet you."

"T's a very nice – n-name," she yawns. Her eyes are closed before she knows it. _Robin_. An echo, in the fine line between sleep and slumber, from her past, from something forgotten. _Robin_.

She falls asleep in minutes, so she doesn't know when the dream starts and reality ends, but she feels lips pressing on her hair and, just like that, just an imperceptible murmur.

 _Sleep well, Regina.  
Sleep well, my love_.

But she must have imagined it.

Right?


	53. chiaroscuro

_A/N: a fic set in the renaissance period, for EmeraldHardy8 and the project Love from OQ. Happy Valentine's Day!_

* * *

 **Chiaroscuro**

The first time Regina sees him, it's at her husband's funeral.

It's summer – the black dress she's been forced to wear is heavy and tickles on her skin, the veil dangling before her eyes makes her vision blurry, but she sees him. For an instant, everything disappears. The crowd, the sounds of mourning, the prayers, the coffin – everything freezes and time comes undone, a long moment when their eyes meet and life slows down – a meeting of souls, her nanny used to call them.

It lasts a blink of an eye and then it's done, the world speeds up, and she goes back to reality. Back to her uncertain, seesawing life, where she is now the head of one of the most powerful Florentine families, left to deal with the entirety of her late husband's wealth as she raises her son until he is of age to take over her role.

That is, if no one kills her first.

The world is wide and life is short, so her mind treasures those blue eyes, cherishes them as a gift – as if she's spotted a weird-looking cloud, or a rainbow after a gloomy day, or a red butterfly on the window panel. She will find out who that man is, she decides. She will ask, discreetly, quietly, she will inquire amongst the servants, amongst those who wander the streets, and she will find out.

The funeral goes on, but from that moment she fluctuates away, the only thing that feels real is Enrico's small hand curled around hers.

;

The second time Robin sees her, it's during the mass for the Assumption.

She looks well – better than she looked during the funeral, her last public appearance a week earlier. Her dress is light blue, her figure is surrounded with murmurs about how she's already discarded the mourning colors, but he can't blame her – the heat is scalding, especially for someone who would have to wear something that long and heavy.

Robin doesn't get down from his spot. He's perched, hidden on a balcony, up on the highest stages of the church. He was working, when the crowd of believers has entered. He decided to stay there, where he can observe without being seen. He rather likes his location, right now, because it allows him an undisturbed view on the crowd. On her.

It could be worrying, his need to watch, but he knows better – he'd love to know _her_ better, for she is a beauty he's never seen the equal. He just _had_ to come all the way from old England to Florence to find his muse. He is silent, like a hunter, as he slides silently a scratch book and a charcoal towards himself, and starts drawing – the music from the organ surrounds him, he gets lost in the traits of his drawing, until he doesn't even feel the heat, just the heartbeat of his veins against the paper.

He has asked about her, but she wasn't hard to find.

 _Regina_.

;

"A portrait?"

His voice is disbelieving, almost offending if she didn't know better.

"Yes, a portrait," she calmly explains. "How is it so strange, messer Donati? I want to do what my husband decided he was too much of a pious man to do, and reintroduce artists in this household. Is it really _so_ unheard of? Must I remind you of the glory of my ancestors?"

Donati nods, eyeing her with those unreadable eyes, his hand curling around his cane. "Very well, madonna," he says slowly. "May I suggest some names, then?"

"Oh that won't be necessary," she smiles sweetly. "You see, I informed you since you're the keeper of the books, but I will deal with the actual choice. You can, however, inform my competitors. Thank you, that'll be all."

He nods again, his eyes narrowing, and bows his head, walking away with his weird three-stepped pace. She slumps down on her chair, lets out a deep breath. At least he didn't make a fuss of it, like she was sure he would. Now, the only problem is finding out if the artist she wants to meet will actually show up.

The maids know him, she found out. One of the slaves was a model in the artists' district, before Leo bought her to warm his bed; and she knows of him – at least, she knew someone who knows the blue-eyed man, but Regina is a noblewoman, and she cannot go there by herself. Luckily, her maid is discrete, and the slave was quickly convinced to stay silent once she was reassured of Regina's intentions to keep her in the safety of her house, even now that Leo is gone.

A portrait.

If she read him correctly, he will not resist. He will come, like a bee drawn to a flower, and maybe she'll get to speak with him.

Her thoughts are suddenly interrupted by her son, barging in her room as if he belonged there.

"Enrico!" she scolds, straightening her spine. "We do not run like that, darling."

"I'm sorry, mama," he immediately says, sheepish, then smiles. "I was just excited." She sees his nanny run after him, halting in the middle of the room when she sees her.

"I'm so sorry, madonna," Bella tells her, her hand curling around Enrico's shoulder. "He likes to escape, this little one."

"Oh, I know," Regina smiles at the girl, sliding down her chair. Bella is young, and a little frightened of her, but she hopes that now, after Leo's death – now that she doesn't have to hold up her usual façade of distaste and hardness – she'll be able to warm up to her. "Now tell me, what are you excited for?"

Enrico starts blabbering about his new preceptor, about how happy he is to finally start with his education, and Regina's heart swells and roars, because how she'd love for her Daniel to be here and see their son grow up. Even though their love was short-lived and glorious, and he had to sail away again after a summer of secret encounters, he left her with the most precious of gifts, and Leo never suspected the child wasn't his own.

She walks with him to the gardens, relieving Bella of her duties for a while, listens to him and fully appreciates this brief moment of peace and quiet before she has to go back to her life of deceits and internal wars.

;

Robin stirs lazily, his mind still foggy of the headache he's procured himself with too much wine. His arm is constricted, and he groans when he realizes he's still trapped under a heavy, fragrant and decidedly feminine body. She's blonde, this one, maybe a tavern maid, he doesn't really remember, he knows nothing of yesterday evening except that he's naked and he has a lovely girl keeping him prisoner under her weight.

"Robin!"

A scream pierces his ears, _Will_ , he groans, cursing the day when he chose to bring him along when he's escaped from England.

"Whann," he slurs, his fingers tangling into a blonde mane, but he doesn't really open his eyes.

"Wake up, old man! There is something you need to see."

He groans again, the warm body of his lover stirring a little above him, but it's not until Will slaps his thigh that he jerks up. An outraged shriek fills his ears – clearly, his nameless companion didn't enjoy being woken up so rudely – and the girl rolls away, her breasts bouncing as she gets away from him and lies on her stomach. Only then Robin realizes he's half hard, but pays it no mind as he glares at Will.

"Alright, I'm awake. What is it?"

Will tosses him a piece of paper, and bites on an apple, wordlessly, waiting for him to focus on the words. Robin reads, blinking a few times, a slow comprehension of the subject starts filtering in his brain as he looks up.

"That's it, man," Will says. "The sign you've been waiting for. It seems your lady has started to play with destiny."

He lowers his eyes down to the paper once again, reading the black words. It _is_ her. Regina de' Medici wants a portrait – and she's asking for the best artists to play this game. Of course, it's more than just a portrait. It's an occasion to fall under her house's wealth and protection, as she wants to restore the old glory, to grow a new generation of artists now that her pig of an husband is dead. An occasion to meet her. Properly. With an excuse.

To meet the woman who has stolen his soul with just a gaze.

;

They are good.

She greets artist after artist, welcomes them, looks at their drawings and drafts, and they are good. Some, are exceptionally good. She spent her life surrounded by art – until the plague, of course, but then she's had to marry to save her family, and it was her husband or nothing, so the gates to imagination have shut down. Florence was too busy rebuilding a normal life, they had to forget about trivialities for a while.

So now she wants that back. She wants a house full of ideas and light, she wants a new world for her son, to leave him something he can be proud of.

And they are good, and she's been struck several times by the perfection of lines, the shadows and colors and vibrant designs.

But he's still not here. So she keeps smiling, and nodding, and some of them join her in the reminiscence of the good old times, when her father ruled, before the disease.

She waits for him.

She knows he'll show up, the blue-eyed man. That is, until her certainty is shaken up when Donati smugly informs, _That was the last one, my lady_ , and she sits and takes a sip of wine, trying not to fall under those thorns of disappointment picking at her heart.

"Have you made up your mind yet?" he asks her, and she shakes her head, forces up a smile.

"No, not yet," she informs. "I… I will let you know in the afternoon."

She hears commotion, from the outside – Bella's voice, another feminine voice, and a deeper one she doesn't recognize, the noise increasingly higher. She raises, goes to the door, catching the last words.

"I don't think it's wise, at this point –"

"Look, I think you should –"

"And _what_ is going on here?" she hears her own voice, imposing, and Bella's eyes widen as the man turns towards her – and it's _him_.

"Madonna, I told him not to…" Bella's voice trails off as Regina raises a hand.

"There's no need, Bella, thank you," she smiles at her. "I appreciate your dedication, but I will not fault someone just because he's late. That's a matter he'll have to discuss with me," she says. "Please, come in, sir. Messer Donati, I will no longer require your presence this morning."

;

As he joins her in the room, he already is captivated.

From up close, she is even more beautiful.

She eyes him, curious, and they exchange polite smiles, until she sits, the throne-like chair imposing. He knows power play, Robin. He knows she has the upper hand here, but maybe… maybe there is a way to even their game, maybe she really started to play with destiny. Maybe it's his move now.

"So, my lady," he starts, his best cocky smile in place. "You were kind to let me in anyway, despite my tardiness. I have to confess it did surprise me, in a way."

She arches an eyebrow, surprised. "And how so?"

Robin dares, and nears the table, sliding off a chair, and sitting down like he belongs there. Her eyes widen slightly, but she awaits his answer.

"Well, I heard of you," he says. "I heard many stories about you. I was, undoubtedly, curious to meet you. And I certainly didn't expect our first meeting to be so full of kindness and humanity."

Something shifts in her face, and he is ready to berate himself for upsetting her. It could be, that she wanted this to be a blank slate, a non-written page, and now he's gone and ruined it. He starts opening his mouth, an apology ready on the tip of his tongue, but she lifts a hand. "Yes, thank you," she cuts it. "Now… show me. Show me why I should hire you for my portrait."

Robin nearly deflates, and goes to take a worn-out leather folder. It's his most treasured possession, the place where he keeps his best drawings. He gives it to her, without opening it, and he starts fearing her reaction. Because it's vital that he gets this position, not only to fight his perpetually empty pockets, but most importantly, because he finds himself completely enraptured with her.

She's silent, during her scrutiny. Turns the pages slowly, her face doesn't show emotions or enthusiasm, he almost doesn't dare to look in her direction. At some point, she widens her eyes.

"This…" she starts, then gulps noticeably, her finger tracing the lines slowly. Robin looks at her, she's pursing her lips together and her frown is deep, staring at the page. He follows her gaze.

It's her portrait.

The draft he's made, that time at the mass, and he forgot to remove it from the folder, like an absolute fool. Now she'll think he's obsessed, or maybe dangerous. Robin widens his eyes too, his hand curling around the folder, and her eyes snap up – there's something akin to _fear_ there. "I… I, I think I should go," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, I…"

"No, wait," her voice is low, her grip on his drawing is strong and he sees her knuckles are white. She may be worried and upset, but she doesn't call for help, for the guards or her maids. "Tell… tell me why. What do you see in me?"

He finds himself impossibly close. He hadn't realize how much he'd got close to her, but she's a breath away, and he pulls back, clears his throat.

"I'm sorry, my lady," he says, grave. "I shouldn't have – I believe I've trespassed, I had no right…"

"I… I don't know if I should feel scared or honored," she confesses. "Because this… this is beautiful, Robin. I… I've never seen myself like this." Their eyes fall on the paper again, down to where he captured her expression, one moment where she smiled down at her son.

"I saw you," he answers, simply, leaving the rest unsaid. _The real you_.

"I want more of this," she whispers. "I want you to draw my portrait – if you desire to have it, the job is yours."

;

Messer Donati isn't happy.

It's always like he knows something she doesn't – but that he went as far as knowing every Florentine artist's life – that she hadn't imagined. But when she tells him of her choice, he arches his eyebrow and says _Of course, madonna_ , and his eyes are more telling than his words.

Regina dresses for dinner, and keeps thinking of him.

Of how happy he was when he's accepted, how the gratitude in his eyes managed to choke her to death because she couldn't hope, never more, never again, that this could lead to something more than a few good hours of polite conversation and stolen glances. After all, the portrait is to be an institutional one, made to be hung up and seen by her guests, and he will get bored.

There is no place for one's soul in official portraits.

But she knows he's a professional, and he'll do as she asks.

Her days go on without a change – they agreed to meet in one week, to get the first poses going, for him to start sketching the first lines. It will take time, this portrait. Her days are boring and repetitive, as it has always been, but there's that feeling of anticipation she can't quite shake.

She wonders, Regina. She finds herself wondering in the midst of the most mundane activities, like when she has to go through the accounting books with Messer Donati. Has he a lover? Has he someone who stole his heart?

And, is Regina just a pretty face, an artistic challenge, or could he be actually interested in the soul he has so easily uncovered?

;

She borrows Bella's cape, to go see him.

Bella is a maid and nanny in one of the most powerful houses, but she still has clothes from her old life, when she was the daughter of a poor inventor who died leaving her in misery. _Regina's strays_ , Leo called them, the poor souls Regina managed to take in her home.

Bella has an old cloak from her youth, with a wide hood that would cover anything; so Regina goes, undetected, at sundown. Damn him. He wished for her to see where he works – he said he wanted to start in a comforting place, brushing off her great halls and beautiful rooms for a poor workshop.

She must be crazy, for trusting him so easily. She brings along a guard, though. Augusto has been with her family since she was fourteen, and he grew up to be a strong man whom she trust wholeheartedly. She knows that not a word of her secret rendez-vous will leak.

"Are you sure about this, madonna?" he only, quietly, asks, while escorting her through the darkest alleys.

"Yes," she replies, "now when we're there, you will stay outside, unless you hear me call for you."

"Alright," he agrees, easily, he has learned since a long time not to argue with her.

Robin is there, when she slides into the workshop. There's no one else, everyone went home – or most likely into a tavern or a brothel. She can only see his back, though, so she pulls down the hood, whispers, _Robin?_ and he turns, smiling when he recognizes her.

"My lady," he says, a small bow of his head. "Thank you for coming."

"You must think I am a fool," she observes, walking to the centre of the room. It's dimly lit with candles and a slow fire in a corner, although it's September and the air is still hot. "For coming here. It is not my normal style, mind you. I usually don't answer well to this kind of calls."

He stills, looking at her, and gently places down one of his brushes. He takes a step, two, until he's facing her. The hand that lifts to her cheek meets warm skin – she doesn't know if it's for the increasing heat in the room, or for something else entirely, that maybe has to do with the furious thumping of her heart.

"And… what kind of call is this?" he asks, low.

Regina hasn't moved, his hand still on her cheek, his fingers threading in her hair. "A call… a call where you expect me to answer, where you summon me. I am not some… _harlot_ you can buy when you desire so."

"I've never thought such thing, milady. I only wish to take what you're ready to give, and just as much."

"And what is it that you wish to get?" she murmurs, staring at his lips. His eyes are still kind, when she lifts hers.

"Well, a few sketches, for starters. And… your trust. Knowing you can send that poor guard home, because no harm will come to you tonight. Or ever." He smiles as she gulps, her hand curling around his forearm. "Then, if I read you well and you desire me as much as I desire you, I will start with your portrait. And it will be a fine one, I assure you," he says, serious. "And only then, when you'll convince yourself you are deserving of love and everything beautiful, I will kiss you, perhaps. But I will never think you are easy, milady…"

She never realizes she's crying, until she feels his thumb swiping on her cheek.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, the imminent sobs threatening to devour her. "I'm sorry, I, I don't know how you can say such things – you don't even know me…"

"But I want to," he assures. "What are you afraid of, Regina?"

It's the first time he speaks her name. She shakes her head, softly, slowly, a sad smile pulling at her lips. "I'm afraid of the future," she whispers. "My life is not easy, or safe. And… I'm afraid of me. What I'm feeling, right now, right here, is…"

"…is?"

He gently encourages her, his thumb still stroking her cheek, and she nearly capitulates under his gaze. She cannot have this, this man that was perhaps promised to her when the gods split the souls, and who could capture her heart and soul with a word.

It is _scaring_ , and enthralling, so she takes the leap, for the first time her peeking down the abyss goes to fly beyond it and she pulls him to her, her eyes closing into that natural gesture – she kisses him, abruptly, feels him melt into the kiss after a moment of frozen surprise, and it's… wonderful.

Robin kisses her back, she knows, until she parts, a her eyes wide of recognition as he looks at her as if he's seen a goddess, and this time pulls her to him, moaning into her mouth, his hand through her hair. _It's you_ , he almost says, almost, she knows because she's thinking the same.

It's already devouring her – the fire, the thumping love that wins and roars and demands. She forgets the world – the world becomes a room of candles, and him, and her, as they fall amidst the color red.

;

 _these violent delights have violent ends  
and in their triumph die, like fire and powder  
which, as they kiss, consume_

;

"Tell me a secret," he whispers, in the dark, his nose pressing on her hair.

They're tangled together, and she feels soft and comfortable, like she's into a cloud, enveloped in his arms in front of the fire. The world has slowly disappeared, until it has shrunk down to the reality that his warm body against hers.

"I… I wouldn't know," she smiles, nuzzling against his bare chest. "Oh, I… I think I have one. I'm… I'm not a good dancer. My husband never cared enough to dance with me," she tells him. Feels him tense up, and only then realizes she sounded, needlessly, sad. "No, Robin, it's… it's alright," she rushes to say. "I got used to it."

"You shouldn't have had," he grumbles. "I couldn't imagine…"

She looks up, and his eyes are still hard – not to her, she realizes after a split second, for her. The thought warms her heart, and she kisses his skin, cups his cheeks. "Now I believe, good sir, you owe me a portrait."

;

She's beautiful.

When he looks at her portrait, he wants to burn it away.

It is _not_ … the official one, the one he'll have to paint, one day. Oh, but he'd draw her anything, he'd make a sculpture of her, he'd paint churches and domes and entire walls of just her.

For now, he's just sketched what he could see, what she requested of him. _I want you to draw me as I am_ , she has asked, unlacing her cape, her dress red and made of velvet. He's kissed her and made her lie down, but hasn't touched her. Her eyes brown and vivid as she never left his gaze, whereas he had to divert it – to trace those lines, to try and capture her beauty on paper.

When she's asked, _Are you done yet?_ with a sleepy voice, he's nodded, waited for her to close her eyes, and then she's slept the sleep of tiredness as he's watched her then the portrait, frustrated, angry to himself for his inability to do justice to her image.

Dawn has found him still gone, in the thin limbo between sleep and wake, Regina's hand curled around his waist, her breaths short and quick.

"Good morning," she whispers, soft, so soft he almost doesn't hear. Her hair is a bit ruffled, her eyes bright like stars as she looks at him. She looks almost… surprised. "I… found the portrait."

Robin blinks, suddenly awake, looks around and sees it on her lap. Makes a move to take it, rip it apart, but Regina doesn't let him. Her hand is kind but firm, as she stops it.

"Robin, it's… it's beautiful," she murmurs. He watches, as there are tears welling up in her eyes, tears she quickly brushes away.

"I don't like it," he says, frankly, her expression freezing when she meets his eyes. "I mean, you are beautiful, Regina. And I've been presumptuous to think I could manage to trap your soul. You shouldn't be in a trap," he says, almost pained. "You – "

She stops him right there, pressing her lips to his. "Stop," she pleads, "stop right there. You gave me something I could never regret, and I'm grateful. You see me in a way… that makes me glad I set up that competition for my portrait," she laughs with a wet chuckle. "Robin, you haven't trapped me. You freed me," she says, and something lifts from his chest, takes its wings and flies. "And I am scared, because I've never felt anything so quickly and almost painfully, but I want to give… _us_ … a chance. So please, stop worrying, and keep freeing me," she cups his cheek, her eyes piercing into his with an intensity which tortures him, "please, come with me, because I don't want to go alone anymore."

Her forehead falls to his, her breath falling short, his lips press to hers in a long kiss. It is answer enough.

;

Regina marries Robin of Locksley in the spring, after a letter comes – the rulers of England enquiring about the son of one between the finest lords, escaped to the Mediterranean lands after an almost-arranged marriage.

They have a moment of crisis – because he has lied, or rather, he didn't tell her the whole truth. But they're hopelessly in love by the time the letter comes, and she forgives in a reasonable amount of time.

Sometimes, they ride together to the countryside or the sea, and they stay away from the affairs of the city for a few days. No one knows what they do, except for a small circle. But there's a room, at the palace, where he spends the hours with the best lights, and the lady of the house often joins him, as they rather likes to escape their duties for a few hours.

She rules the city, as everyone expected, with his quiet, steady presence at her side. One day, her son will take her place, and they'll retire together, away from the crowd. For now, they live.

And they are happy.


	54. evergreen

_second entry for the OQ prompt party, tuesday._  
 _22\. page 23 showing up out of nowhere._

 _set in an alternate version of season 7._

* * *

 **Evergreen**

Roni has a little secret.

Very few people know about it – Henry, for starters, Lucy and Jacinda, and her partner Kelly knew about it before she left to become a hippie.

The fact is, Roni's secret doesn't bode well with her reputation – the cool, take-no-bullshit sharp barista, the one who took a self-defense course and has a baseball bat behind the counter, the one who knows how to throw a punch and strolls around in leather jackets and sometimes, if she's in the right mood, plays guitar in the quiet of her apartment.

Roni has a soft spot in her heart. And it's not the little spot she shows to some selected customers, when she exchanges a few words because every good bar owner knows how to do that, people who drink alone have something to drink for. It's a softer spot, more hidden, private. It's something that happens every week, on Monday evening, when she goes at the hospital and into the intensive care unit, to a room that's usually very silent.

There, lies her patient.

Because Roni volunteers, every Monday evening, like clockwork. And she sits next to this man, this John Doe who's in a coma since she has memory of him – since everyone at the hospital has memory of him, truth be told – and talks to him. At first, she didn't think it could be useful. _Bullshit_ , she's told the doctor who proposed her to take this assignment. _A man in a coma can't sense I'm there_.

But… she's come to like this quiet moment of peace in her busy week. She catches herself thinking that what she's doing is stupid, sometimes. Other times, she loses herself in contemplation of him, and holds his hand. She wonders what color his eyes are, how does his voice sound like.

One day she brings Lucy along, because Henry is away with Rogers, for who knows what sort of investigation, and Jacinda is working, so she's babysitting on her day off, but she doesn't mind. Lucy brings her book along – the one she's so obsessed with, but Roni likes the kid, so… she'll accept whatever weird quirk she has.

"It's _him_?" Lucy asks, entering the room, her usual excited voice dropping down to a whisper.

"Yes it is," Roni answers, standing up next to the bed. _John Doe_ , says the little panel with his medical recordings, and _John Doe_ says the screen with his vitals – _thump-thump_ , _thump-thump_ , his heart, steady and strong as it always is, seventy-per-minute and the like. He looks asleep, she thinks, as she always does during her visits.

He doesn't look like a John Doe.

;

Lucy lends her the book for some days. She has a theory, Lucy. Many theories. She has lists and lists of names and genealogical trees and connections between characters. So she said Roni should read to John Doe, read him some stories, because honestly, Roni's tales about the bar and Victoria and Weaver are interesting but repetitive, and Lucy is sure their patient would like a little kick, some novelty. Roni wants to tell her that no, it's already a miracle if he even hears her voice, but doesn't. Instead, she pushes an old movie ticket between the pages, where she's found a good story, and walks to the hospital for the umpteenth time.

"Evening, Roni," the nurses greet her, she's a regular here, but this time she brings flowers. Little hyacinths and dandelions she has found in the tiny plot of garden Victoria hasn't managed to get her hands on.

He looks different, tonight. Someone has shaved him – they do it twice a week, but she usually comes when he has a bit of a stubble.

"Hi," she greets, softly, an automatic reflex as she sees someone she knows. Except, she feels quite stupid, because she doesn't really know him, does she? Not even his real name.

She sits, swiftly, next to him, then her eyes find his face. He looks asleep. His chest lifts and descends normally, as if he's breathing normally. He doesn't even have an oxygen mask. She hesitates, then her hand finds his for a moment, and he's warm behind her skin, he looks… healthy. Different. Something feels decidedly different. As if he's more… alive.

Roni shakes her head. _Get a grip_ , she tells herself. These are Lucy's ideas, her believing nature, and she can't succumb to it. She knows life will come back to kick her again, if she dares to hope.

"Okay," she murmurs. "I… Lucy told me I should read you something… and I picked a couple of stories, but I don't know which one you'd like most, so… I'll just go random, okay? And forgive me, I'm not a great reader."

" _Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl, witty, and smart, and courageous, who fell in love with a childhood friend, and then followed him through misery and times of gloom, where all hope seemed to be lost. This friend of hers was an outlaw, and he stole from the rich to give to the poor… but this is the story of the woman who loved him, and helped him see the beauty in acts of kindness, and turned his selfish heart into a generous one. This is the story of Maid Marian…_ "

Roni clears her throat, but he's still unmoving. _What did you expect_ , she shrugs to herself, and goes on with the story. Reads and reads until her voice is tired, but doesn't stop.

The story changes – now it's the story of a queen, young and sad, living in a castle as a prisoner, until a fairy makes her fly with pixie dust to find her soulmate. She reads and reads, until the queen is outside the tavern where her love sits.

" _And_ _she stood there, freezing, as if the fire of her hope had rapidly been extinguished by a bucket of water, because she realized she could never find the courage to enter and meet him, the man with the lion tattoo…_ "

He moves.

Suddenly, without warning or any noise, he lifts his hand, so quickly she could swear she has imagined it all, if it wasn't for the so very real weight of his hand above hers. He has it curled around her fingers, and she looks at him, but he doesn't move.

"Can you hear me?" she whispers, but he doesn't answer. Her eyes dart to the screen – his vitals are still normal, those usual numbers she's come to cherish. "Are you awake?" She squeezes slightly on his hand. Nothing.

"I'll… just call the doctor, okay?" her heart is thumping fast, faster than ever, because could it be, that Lucy has been right all along?

;

" _Miss Belfrey? It's Doctor Smith. You said I should have called you immediately after any changes about John Doe… yes, that one. He… his vitals are showing a sudden increase in his cerebral activities. Yes. There was one of our volunteers… she was reading to him, when it happened. Said he grabbed her hand. Her name? Oh, you may know her. Roni. Roni Ram_ _í_ _rez_."

;

The next time she enters that room, she's different. She _feels_ different. She's not Roni anymore – she's Regina, and she has memories worth several lifetimes.

She started getting ready an hour earlier. It may seem stupid, but if she's gonna see the love of her life – knowingly – for the first time in fifteen years, she's gonna look good. Gone are her jeans and leather jackets, for today. She unearths a dress, somewhere, and the flats he liked, because he said they made her seem pocket-size – when life was easier, and a resurrected frozen fake-wife was the biggest of their problems.

Regina enters the room with a bundle of tulips and something like jittery anticipation in her steps.

There he is. Robin.

A sob wracks her, the moment she sees him, and it takes everything she has not to run to him and kiss the life back inside his body. She could wake him up, she knows she could. She's not cursed anymore, she could. But if she does, her son dies, so she just sits next to him. Takes his hand.

"I miss you," she starts. "And I'm still angry with you for saving my life, because you're a moron who always gets in my way, but I'm also incredibly grateful you did. I lived, just as you wanted. I got a granddaughter and I love my family, but it's not the same without you…"

She tells him of Roland, how he grew up with her other half and his wish-version, tells him of Robyn, his daughter, but mostly, tells him of herself. How she wishes she could just kiss him, but first, she needs to save Henry.

"You always agreed that children come before us," she says, all teary, his warm hand between hers. "And I love you so much, _so_ much, and I missed you and I want to be with you, but I can't risk Henry's life. We'll have to wait a little longer," she presses his hand against her cheek, doesn't risk getting it anywhere near her lips. "We have always been good at waiting, haven't we?"

It's hard to leave him – harder than ever, even though she knows he won't go anywhere.

When she exits, her hands slump into the pockets of her raincoat – her chin down, she doesn't want to look at anyone, because she has cried her heart out. Her fingers find something – something wrinkled and quite familiar. She takes it from her pocket, and – it's – it's what she thought it was, and she unfolds it, the old page from another world, from her past.

She stands in the middle of the sidewalk, the passersby don't even imagine what she is staring at – a piece of magic and hope, that page Robin had found years ago, that page telling her to hold on, and have faith.

"Okay," she murmurs, to her love, her thumb caressing the paper. "Okay. I'll always wait for you."


	55. though my soul may set in darkness

_third entry for the OQ prompt party, wednesday._  
 _54\. dark!oq finding and taking in an abandoned baby._

 _this is a second part to chapter 40 of this collection, if you want._

* * *

 **Though my soul may set in darkness**

 _... it will rise in perfect light._

.

.

It's a cold night – the coldest of the year, probably, and Regina is not too fond of her castle right now. It's just that the walls and floors are freezing, and even if she drained her magic she couldn't possibly warm it up entirely. Snow falls slowly, outside, and the forest looks like a winter wonderland – still has a little snowman in a corner of the courtyard, and baby-hobbit-sized footprints where Roland has strolled around.

Robin was wonderful, this afternoon. She's watched from a window, sitting – her belly has become too large to even _think_ about snow angels, or just… bundling up and going to play. She was happy to watch them – almost-father and almost-son, sharing a bond that's entirely theirs, a bond they've created from the roots the first Robin left them.

But she is tired, now, and they've all moved downstairs, because she dreads the thought of stairs and the like, so they've just taken up a room on the ground floor and moved there, where a crib already awaits, empty.

She can't sleep – the baby is dancing, tonight, really, and she didn't want to disturb Robin or Roland, so she got up and in the kitchen, and made herself some hot water with herbs. She's almost dozing off, hand curled around the mug, when she feels something. A shadow, on the window, and then it goes.

A prickling feeling of danger creeps up her spine and she lifts up, too slowly, too wobbly, by the time she gets to the window the shadow is gone.

A small fire curls up in her hand as she exits the kitchen. She shouldn't use magic, not really, because of the baby, but if something threatens her family, she wants to know. So she walks, down the corridor and follows the windows and the trail she has – of fresh footprints, and Regina gets to the main gate with the shadow, who must be quick but with a weight on them.

By the time she opens the gate, the main door, the shadow is gone. She looks out – right, left, even tries to spot anyone hiding up a tree, but… there's no one. She's without a cloak, so she's about to close the door and brush it off, to extinguish the fire, but then she hears the faint crying. The flame pops out of her hand to become a light globe, suspended in the air.

Looks down, and there it is. A wooden basket, with a baby inside – a newborn, she thinks, it must be, it's so… small. She crouches down, slowly, carefully, and her hand cups the baby's cheek, as she looks around to see if she can spot the mysterious someone who left the baby.

There's no one in sight.

They clearly knew what they were doing, when they left the basket there – they knew she lives there, they knew she's taking care of Roland? Who she is? Maybe, that she's pregnant and could be more easily convinced to take this baby in?

She knows – because she's a parent – that the cloaked someone is still watching. There's no eye in sight, though, but they're still there, waiting to see if she will bring the baby in.

Her gaze falls again on the small child at her feet. Finally calm, now that it senses a warm hand on their skin, the baby looks at her with wide green eyes. Only now she notices the envelope at its feet – blurred lines on the paper, words she can't read properly in this weak light.

"Alright then," she sighs. "Let's get you inside, darling."

;

Robin is a light sleeper, and this time he makes no exception. She just has to gently squeeze his shoulder, and he's practically on his feet, almost looking for a weapon, when he realizes it's just his wife.

"Easy there, lion," she soothes. "Come with me, there's something you should see."

He nods – he knows how to read the serious tone she's spoken with, and follows her outside their room and in the kitchen, where the basket is. He looks inside, and then at her, puzzled. Regina sits, because her back is doing a number. "So… someone left this baby outside, in the snow," she explains, even though it's pretty obvious. "And… I couldn't leave it there. I'm sorry."

"Al…right?" he frowns, as she bites her lip, because it's difficult to imagine his reaction. He took on quite well with Roland, and he's happy she's expecting, but – this is different. Somehow. Not for her – she finds easy to love children, even if they do not share her blood. But him…

"So you want to keep… it? Him… or her?"

"I… I don't know… I mean, we'll have a baby very soon," she motions, needlessly, at her swollen belly. "And… I don't know, but right now, we are all that baby has. I don't think you could find the one who left the basket, not with this snow, and they clearly had a good reason…"

"I see," he nods. "Regina, it's okay. I know you, I wouldn't expect less." He leans on to kiss her forehead, and she curls a hand around his, squeezes. "Have you read the letter they left?"

"Not yet," she says, watches as he takes it, opens it and reads.

 _Your Majesty,  
I am who left this child in your care, and I wanted to explain my reasons, as well as thank you. I know you'll love my baby as I see you loving that curly-haired boy or the baby you're carrying. You see, I am dying. I'll die very soon and this baby has no one other than me. I hope you can give my child a good life, and I thank you deeply. _

_Name her Cait, and take care of her._

"There's another page," he says, and lifts the first one. " _Dearest Cait, it's your mother_. _I love you so much_ … we probably shouldn't read this one, though. Yet."

Regina looks into the basket, where the baby is smiling at her, making bubbly noises. "She's adorable…"

"That she is," Robin nods, his hand lowering the letter. "So… what do you think?"

"I… I think we should keep her," Regina says, trying to brush off a tear without him noticing. Her head lifts, and looks at him. "If you want it as well, of course."

His fingers card though her hair, in that slow moves she loves so much. "You're already smitten with her, milady," he smiles. "We'll raise her with Roland and the baby," he promises. "Who would have thought I'd find myself to be father of three."

"You'll be wonderful at it," she tells him, her own hand finding his. "I know it."

"Well then," he takes a deep breath, leaves her hand and looks into the basket, where Cait is. He leans on, slides a hand under the baby and lifts her, keeping her enveloped in her blanket. "Welcome to the family, Cait."


	56. not so little anymore

_fourth entry for the OQ prompt party. thursday._  
 _159\. peanut's first period and robin's the only one home._

* * *

 **Not So Little Anymore**

His daughter is wonderful. Caring, kind, and exceptionally sweet when she's in the right mood. And sharp, witty or even hurtful when she's in a bad mood. She takes after her mothers – both of them, he knows, and Regina says she's actually much better than she could be, that Cora's genes only pop up every now and then, but still. She's only a preteen, Elise, and her temper has always been there, even more now that she's entering the hormonal period of her life.

Roland has been different, he thinks. Quiet, even too quiet sometimes, hidden in himself – and Regina was worried, didn't know how to deal with his moody days, when he'd get into his room without talking to anybody who wasn't Henry or sometimes his sister. Now he's nineteen, and Robin hopes they're out of the woods with him.

But Elise is a force of nature, and when she fights with Regina, oh, he's actually worried they'll burn down the house one day. They fought this morning, for example. Screams and slammed doors and all the like, and neither Regina nor Zelena seem able to dull Elise's temper when she's like this. That's usually his job – him and Roland and Henry, they're much practiced in the art of calming down the Mills women.

So Regina has gone to work, with a promise – that they'll talk later, and maybe Zelena will come for tea so she can back her up in a double scolding session, and Henry is out of town, and Roland is on an early shift at the Rabbit's Hole. So that leaves him and Elise alone, because she's home from school for the summer, plus his shift is tonight, so he fully intends to calm her down and make her see reason before the Mills sisters come home.

"Darling?" he knocks at the bathroom's door, where Regina has left her before storming off for the office – because of course they'd fight while one bathes and the other applies make-up, wouldn't want to waste a minute of the day. "Come on, I know you're angry with your mom, but it'll be okay. Can I come in?"

"No!" a high-pitched voice comes from inside, and he stops with a hand on the handle. "Wait outside."

"Okay," he sighs. "We can talk like this, I'll stay here. Please tell me what's wrong, tho."

"It was nothing," Elise answers, "it was stupid. I did something stupid and she's angry, that's all! But she started it, and now I don't want to talk to her anymore!"

"Now, now, peanut," he soothes, with the old nickname they gave her when she was little. "Your mom loves you, and you know it. Why did you fight? It was about magic, right?"

"I don't know!"

"Please, Elise, can I come in? I feel like an idiot, talking to you from here."

"No!"

"Why's that?"

"Because no. You can't. I… you can't."

"Is something wrong?"

He's starting to get worried, now. He brushed it off like it was a weird quirk of hers, but he suspects something is wrong if she doesn't let him in. This isn't about the fight anymore.

"I don't know!" she almost cries, in that panicked voice she has when she's scared or upset.

"Darling, please," he says, trying to sound rational. "Let me come in, and I promise we'll fix it. But let me in, you're scaring me."

Silence, and a long moment of quiet. Then, he hears the key twist in the knob.

He walks in slowly, worried, as he sees Elise's wide blue eyes looking at him, the damp mane of her ginger hair thrown behind her shoulder, and her too-big violet bathrobe engulfing her like a cloud.

"What's wrong, baby?" he asks, cupping her cheeks. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I don't think so," she says, but he still sees the wet trails of tears on her face. "I mean… mom told me about it but I don't know if _this_ is it, I… I know it happens but I thought she was gonna be here when it happened and I fought with her and I don't remember what to do!" she sniffs, loudly, and turns away her face and blows her nose into the toilet paper.

"Baby, what are you talking about? What happened?"

Elise sits on the edge of the toilet bowl, sniffs once more, sadly. "Look into the tub."

Robin takes two steps – and it's there, the still-soapy water, with some leftover bubbles and… red.

"Is that – did you use a bath bomb, or is that blood?" he looks at her, his eyes immediately search for a bleeding cut, scanning her legs and arms.

"I think it's blood," she says, looking down. "I think it's… that thing mom told me about. You know, the girls thing."

"Oh you mean your period?" he asks, crouching down next to her. "Yes, I know about it, honey. What's the matter then?"

"I don't…" she averts her eyes, as if she's embarrassed. "Mom told me how, but it was like years ago and I don't remember… you know… how to use a…"

"… a tampon?" he asks, and she nods, looking sad. "Okay, let me think… mom doesn't get her period anymore, but I know for sure…" he shifts on the floor, and he opens the small cupboard under the sink, and yes, there they are, "that Grace left here some of her stuff here for emergencies, when she sleeps here with your brother… and she won't mind if we borrow one, and then I can go to the store and buy you some, alright?"

"Okay," she murmurs. "Thanks."

Robin rummages between the boxes, and finally finds the one he's been looking for. He goes for pads, because they'll be easier, and it's best to wait for Regina if Elise has to use tampons. "Here you go," he gives her the small package, with an encouraging smile. "I think this one will be okay. You don't have to worry about this, sweetheart. It's perfectly normal, and you're fine."

"Uh, yeah," she looks at it, still uncertain. "So I just… open it and it goes on my pants?"

"This one has a sticky bottom, yes," he says, "you follow the indications and it should be fine. I'll… I'll just go outside and wait for you, okay?"

She nods, so he gets up, goes out and waits for her to be ready. When she calls him in again, she's dressed but still has her hair wet. "Do you want me to dry your hair? Like we used to do when you were little?"

"Okay," she shrugs, trying to be cool about it, but he spots a smile. "Can you do the braid too?"

"I hope I still remember how," he smirks.

.

Regina comes home for lunch – it's unusual, but the town is slower in the summer, she doesn't have that much of work now that the Summer Festival has passed. She's still slightly angry with Elise – but when she enters, and Robin blocks her from making any noise, pressing a finger against his lips, she looks at him, puzzled.

"She's asleep," he says, motions at the couch.

"Asleep… now?"

"She had quite an adventure this morning," he tells her, as she sits at the table and slides off her jacket. Robin passes her a plate, and sits next to her as she starts eating. He tells her – that after she left he went to look for Elise and found her in panicking over her first period. "And I think she needed you," he smiles, as Regina looks up. "She was upset you weren't there, but I think I managed. Although then she got a stomach ache, so I got her on the couch with some medicine and a hot tea, but then she said she was too warm, so now she's asleep with a blanket around her stomach and in her swimsuit."

"Damn," Regina whispers. "Poor baby. Periods are a bitch in the summer… I'm sorry I wasn't here, you… I don't know, you can call me if it's an emergency, you know…"

"We managed, babe, don't worry," he squeezes her fingers. "But I think she needs her mom now. If you can take the afternoon off."

"Yes, of course," she murmurs, "I'm sorry I fought with her. I shouldn't… we're too similar, that's it," she says, pained. "I knew how to raise boys, but Elise… she's like me, and Zelena, and we clash because we're too damn stubborn…"

"You're a great mom," he tells her, leans on, kisses her cheek. "Now go, stay with her a bit."

"Thanks," she answers, getting up. Circles him from behind, him still sitting, and places her chin on his shoulder. "You're a great dad too. The children are lucky to have you." _And I am too_ , she doesn't add, but she thinks he knows. Then she goes to find her daughter, thanking all her starts that she got a second chance with him, and that they found a balance in the process – which looks an awful lot like happiness.


	57. crystal clear

_sixth entry for the OQ prompt party, saturday._

 _178\. Regina cares for a sick Robin during the missing year._  
 _110\. Robin or Regina almost freeze to death and the other one finds them._  
 _102\. bedsharing._

 _set in the Iridescence verse._

* * *

 **Crystal Clear**

"Your Majesty, I…"

"Shut up and walk, John. I don't wish to discuss about it any further."

She huffs, the Queen, a hand on her hip as she steadies herself. Her hand slides against her mare's strong muscles, its warmth and presence alone is enough to calm her, to make her feel like what's happened can actually be fixed, that just because she is used to it, she's not doomed to lose _everyone_ she cares about. Still. Her breath comes out in ragged pants, as John follows in tow, his steps surprisingly swift and less noisy than hers.

The arrow glimmers mid-air, pointing north, still north, snow flurrying around them. They're going to lose the path, if they don't get moving. She considered enchanting the horse or herself, but then, she's just recovering from a quite serious illness and she didn't think she could lift someone by herself, let alone apparate with them. Hence why she's had to bring John along.

"So damn stupid," she mutters, her fingers clenching in her gloves. "So damn stubborn, and idiotic…"

"I really do hope it's not me you're complaining about, your Majesty," John tells her cheerfully. "He's gonna be alright, you know. He's a tough one, that one."

"I… he'll better be," she says haughtily. It's not like John hasn't guessed, anyway. That she did not fight with Snow to exit herself in the almost-blizzard _just_ because she has an absolute distrust for the Merry Men's capacity to _actually_ bring their leader back home, when left on their own. That there has to be the slightest string of care, down there, and Regina is only lying to herself if she doesn't admit it. "We're almost there," she murmurs, maybe lost in the wind, but the magic is straightening around the edges, becoming pointy and decided as the arrow accelerates and falls down nearby a tree.

She leaves the reins to John, and takes the remaining steps, sprinting in a clumsy run. When she crouches down, her fur-lined cloak almost covers half of his body, as big as it is, but she can't find in herself to care. Her hand goes to his cheek – pale, almost blue, and so cold. "Robin," she whispers. "Robin, wake up."

He's unresponsive. Her gloved hands cup his cheeks now, and she's acutely aware of John's presence beside her. "Wake _up_ ," she orders, stings of warm rage at the corners of her eyes. "You _have_ to. I'm _not_ going to have to explain about this to your son."

The smallest twitch of his eyelids is proof enough, and Regina curls her hand around his wrist to feel his heartbeat – it's faint, but it's there. "Bring the horse here," she tells John, without lifting her eyes. "This is worse than I'd imagined. We have to bring him inside at once."

Low hinnies and noises reach her ears, but it's like she's in a bubble. A bubble where there's only him, and her, and his stupid, stupid cold skin and low breaths. Regina moves her fingers slowly, in a dance of little movements she's perfected during the years, and a little blue flame springs out her fingertips and flies to Robin, slides under his shirt – it will warm him, without burning. The magic weakens her, she wills away the sudden dizziness with a shake of her head. Snow's voice still rings in her ears, annoyingly pitched, _You're not well, Regina, I can't believe you're considering this_ , and Granny reiterating from her corner, _She's right, girl, you must be insane_. But she had to go – besides Doc , Tuck and the old wolf, she's the only one around who has some notions of healing and first aid, the only one who knows magic, so she went, _I will not watch another child become an orphan, Snow, Roland deserves the same protection any child would get_.

So she went, and now John is jostling her up, she hasn't even noticed him as he lifted Robin to the horse and secured him to the harness, covered him with a spare cape they'd brought. "Come on, your Majesty, get up," he says to her ear. The snow has increased, now, "yes, that's it, hold on to me," and the walk back begins. The cold penetrates under her cloak, her clothes, the hunting attire she's chosen is practical but not ideal, her boots thump and slash the fresh snow.

The castle is not far, by any means, Robin himself was not far, he was almost there, but almost isn't enough. Snow's voice again, suppressing a snicker, _You placed a spell on him to ensure he was safe? You're going soft_ , a snicker soon muted by her best evil glare – and maybe Snow's smile has fallen a tad too quickly, but Regina is _not_ going soft, she just doesn't want that child to be alone in this world, doesn't want another parent to abandon their child, is that really something one should laugh and poke about?

"Almost there," John says, but now she's feeling stronger – the promise of shelter giving her the energy she needed for the last steps, and there's people waiting at the gate. Maybe she won't stroll in barking orders, but she feels alright enough not to hold on to John anymore. Follows in, confident, that she can save him and then, possibly, punch his nose for getting in harm's way.

.

They settle him downstairs, in a warm room near the kitchens, and she commands everyone out before she has to start tending to him. "Make sure you take care of yourself as well, girl," Granny tells her, squeezing her arm – their eyes meet, the wolf means business and she's not fooling around. She means it – and she wasn't going to, Regina, would have tended to him and probably collapsed on her cold bed, her wet cloak still on. But she's not of any use like this. If she passes out for exhaustion, there'll be no one skilled enough to look at his illness, and all of this will be for nothing.

"I will," she whispers into a promise, to which Granny leaves her arm and says she'll send in warm food shortly.

The door shuts, and they're alone.

There are blankets, and a fire roaring in the hearth. She works quickly on herself – her cape disappears along with her wet clothes, switched for a warm set of trousers and a wool blouse. Her hair is humid, damp with melted snow, so she ties it into a braided bun, telling herself she'll see to that in a minute.

But her magic is fading too fast, and shit. She'll be no use to the thief if she's useless like this. Her hand goes inside his pocket, where she knows she'll find a flask of firewhisky. She chugs it down, almost half of it, her head spins for a moment but the effect are immediate: a flame burning her veins and warming her insides, pleasant, it will do for now. Her hand goes to lift Robin's head, with the muscle memory she still has from her son's days as a toddler, and pours some whisky inside his parted lips.

He doesn't move, but breathes more easily, and that's good. This, and the still-burning fireflame she's nestled next to his heart will do the trick. Hopefully.

Now, she has to free him from his wet clothes. Regina sighs, looks at him. The heat in the room is scalding, now, but it's not enough. He still shivers, tiny hiccups of labored breaths marring the natural rhythm of his chest, and her heart aches. Why, she ignores. It's not – this situation, it shouldn't have happened, because she doesn't actually care for him. Until now, she has purely worked under the impulse of healing magic. That need to do something in front of a pained being, some remnants of her ancient days as an apprentice, still glistening of the black of an unicorn and a pulsing heart in her hand.

She sits on the bed, carefully. The work she's about to face is going to be long and difficult, and deep down she knows she's wasting the little time she's left, but this – a moment, a glimpse at him as he's unguarded and his blue eyes are not reading her soul, she wanted this. Her fingers start on the buttons of his shirt. Damp and patched of melted ice, it has glued to his skin. She frees his collarbone and traces the lines of his jaw – it's so… weird, and intimate, that her hand trembles and she shakes her head. She's not supposed to do this. She's to be a doctor, not some lovesick schmaltzy excuse of a nurse.

A knock at the door startles her.

Regina lifts up, guilty, as if she's been burned, flies to open the door.

"How is he?" Granny asks, her hand strong around the handles of a tray.

"Oh, he's… better. I think. I'm working on it," she answers, kind, much kinder than she'd normally be – prays the shadows from the fireplace will hide the pink growing in her cheeks.

"Good. See that he's hydrated. And for goodness's sake, eat _something_."

Granny leaves before she can answer, leaves her there with the tray, watching the old wolf limp away. "Thank you," she murmurs, maybe uselessly, maybe she's been heard.

.

When she has Robin in nothing but his shirt, she's worked out a sweat.

She hasn't looked at him. Has worked to pull and push away wet clothes, has reached out for his boots and trousers. He was wearing too little. Her brow furrows, the little flame next to his heart pulsing more weakly now, the same rhythm as her heartbeat. She sighs, and extends a hand to retreat it. The spell has to be more effective. The gentle, meaningless healing ball of light isn't enough, the flame from burned wood isn't enough.

Regina reaches out for more blankets, drapes them above him before she can start removing his shirt. It's white – it was white, now it's grey and patched, so she slides a hand under his back and lifts, his weight almost crushing her, pulling on the sleeves, telling herself she should have just ripped the shirt of and mended it later. He lies back down, slowly, she takes a moment, just a glance, to admire a well-toned body before she covers him.

And of course, later she'll reason that maybe fate intended this moment to be just _hers_ – a moment when he's unconscious and can't witness the look in her eyes at his bare forearm, the startled yelp she lets out, the way she clasps her hand against her mouth and her eyes fill with tears.

Her breaths are slow, her eyes blinking in the low light, as she looks and looks at his forearm as if enough looking could change the image – the lines are marred in her teary eyes, the black of the ink mocks her from the emblazoned symbol.

 _It's you_ , she murmurs, so low, dread in her heart, because how fitting it is that losing her son would bring her to find who would have been her soulmate – in happier, more uncertain times, long hair and braids, horses and a still bleeding pure heart, and her nightgown splashed of blood more often than not.

Her finger traces the lion engraved in his skin, it is unmistakable that she found him, what a novelty, what a cruel joke that she had to be heartbroken and almost killed a thousand times and he had to lose his wife and raise his son alone for them to be here, right now, in this exact moment where their stars are aligned for a split second of peace. She loses herself in thoughts, of herself going into that tavern and – being _brave_ , for once, she has always been brave, but every single time, it was for the wrong causes.

When he coughs, loudly, wetly, she snaps back to reality. He's still _freezing_ _to death_.

And she let herself daydream over a lost past, like the stupid girl that didn't know better, like the queen of nothing who always lets her happy endings slip through her fingers. Not that he could be – he's _not_ …

"Okay, okay," she tells him, rushed, even though he can't really hear. "I'm sorry, you're right."

She'd be caught dead before letting him hear those words, but tonight she doesn't care. With the utmost care, she climbs into the bed next to him, on the other side, kneels next to him and calls to her magic. It's there, but it's – difficult, like a clock with its mechanism slowed down, rusty, it does not flow like the usual current of thunders and smoke. _Come on_ , she mutters, her hands facing up, her lungs inflating and deflating as a cough seizes her. She curls up above his body, wrecked with the power of the dust in her lungs, and, she can't believe her own thoughts, maybe Snow was right and she shouldn't have gone outside with this snowstorm brewing. _Shit_ , she spits out.

His breathing has slowed down. Her fingers feel cold against his skin and at this point she doesn't know if it's him, her, both, her hands fists, both freezing because she was weak, and couldn't save them. One intake of breath, she has a minute to slow down, one minute, it can't be that minute that changes anything for him. "Hold on," she whispers, tears in her eyes. Because she doesn't know what to do. It's annoying and even terrifying, but she doesn't _know_.

Wait.

Maybe she shouldn't be trying to _heal_ him.

Maybe there is another way… a way she hadn't considered.

She decides in an instant, it's the only way, her hands placed down on his chest. "I really hope you're enjoying yourself," she tells him, shakily, another cough taking the best of her. Power filters through now, now that she's caught on the right way to save him, power is cold and white, a fog of ice surrounds her hands as she doesn't really heal, but rather inhales the cold, preserves his lungs, warms his insides and takes the ice inside.

It hurts.

It goes through her like a poisoned dagger, burns like silver fire and runs through her veins and she cries, but doesn't let go until it's done, until he's warm again so – so he's safe, and she won't have another death on her list, all because she was too stupid to let go of an argument, so his son will be raised with one of his parents…

When her hands stop glowing, she breathes out, and falls next to him. _It's alright_ , she thinks, smiling in the start of her daze, _it's alright, I have a fire in me… I'll be alright_ …

.

When she wakes, she's warm. It's pleasant – lovely, even.

 _I guess I died_ , she thinks, smiles to herself, burrowing further against the source of the warmth. _Maybe I'm with Daniel now. I won't open my eyes. It's a dream – it's real, or I went away, away for good…_

"Welcome back," a voice says, amused, from up above. _Mmm_ , she answers, maybe the voice will go away if she ignores it strong enough. Flames dance against her eyelids, something pushes against her mind, _Regina? Regina, open your eyes_.

"Are you alright, milady?"

It shifts back to focus, when she hears that word. _Shit_. Her eyes slam open and her breath catches, _shit_ , her head turns to blue eyes and a soft smile, when she notices the way her arm is draped above his chest, feels his arm around her shoulder, and _oh_. Oh.

She rushes to free herself, actually so fast her head spins, but he gently tightens his hold. "Easy," he murmurs. "You passed out on me, I don't think you should be up so quickly."

"What happened?"

It comes out more weakly than she'd intended to, and suddenly she is hyper aware of… everything, his body against hers, his warmth, he's warm, relief fills her with a sudden wave and her hand curls some more around his hip, before she remembers, her cheeks redden and her gaze falls.

"I woke up here," he says simply, "the last thing I remember was being lost in the forest, and then…"

"And then?"

He hesitates, but doesn't tell her. "And… I woke up here, all warmed up – almost too much, in fact, that I would have sworn it could have been my lucky star, or my fairy godmother, or… you."

"How flattering," she murmurs. He's still holding her. She is staying, purely because of the warmth he provides, there are no second ends to this. They're ignoring their closeness, it seems – _purely_ on safety instincts, they've both slept outside in the cold during their lives, and this is the quickest way not to lose body heath. Right? It is. Just that.

"I should be mad you used magic on me."

" _Excuse_ me?"

Now she loses it, her limbs protesting almost violently when the lack of his body sends shivers to hers, but she goes up and stares at him. "I risked my magic, my sanity, my horse, my _life_! to come and rescue your stupid ungrateful ass, and you say you should be _mad_?"

"Regina, I don't mean I am mad," he takes her hand, she wonders if he could hear the blood thumping, the way her heart took a faster pace when she's thought _He's my soulmate_ , what a weird word, what a strange fate, for him to be – "I mean I would have been, once, but I know you, I trust you. Even if you don't trust me."

Her heart stops, perhaps for a moment.

"I usually do," she answers, under her breath. "Trust you. Except when you decide to be an irresponsible idiot and get lost inside a snowstorm."

"Come back here while you yell at me," he invites, not missing a beat, opening his arm. "You're shivering."

She glances at him, stares, really, but she is cold, so – she will indulge him, just this once. Just because she gifted him the heat from her body, and it will take a few hours before she gains it again. "You stole from me, you know," she murmurs, reluctantly letting him surround her again, his arms a surprisingly nice refuge. "I had to give up part of my heat to save you. Thief."

"You know, technically, you can't steal something that's been given to you," he reasons, the moron, to which Regina clicks her tongue and huffs. "But, I'm grateful. You surely did go to great lengths to make sure this thief stayed alive."

"Don't flatter yourself," she answers, cuts, her gaze steady on the fireplace. "Did it for Roland. And right now you're making yourself useful. For a thief, that is."

"Well how kind of you, your Majesty."

"Don't tell anyone of this. Or I'll strongly reconsider my choice of coming after you to save you."

"Won't tell a soul," he murmurs against her hair – she can feel the low rumble of his chest as he suppresses a laugh, but for now, she hasn't got the energy to care, or even to answer with a witty remark. It will do, if she just closes her eyes for a moment, and falls down to sleep. It will do… if she forgets he's her soulmate, and doesn't dream of the what could have been.

He must be asleep when she finally surrenders to the peace of her mind, but right before she closes her eyes for good, the little flame of blue heat pops up her fingertips again.

 _What and if are two words as non-threatening as words can be. But put them together, side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life: what if?_

 _._

 _Should we?_


	58. fortuna

_seventh entry for the OQ prompt party, sunday._

 _209 . "How did my parents meet? Well, my dad was in jail, and called the wrong number accidentally, who happened to be my mom, and he didn't wanna waste his call so he told her not to hang up. Boom. They're 24 years married."_

* * *

 **Fortuna**

.

.

Hello?

 _Yes, hello? It's me._

I'm sorry, who is this?

 _Wait… you are not Will._

I'm most certainly not. I think you… have the wrong number, I'm sorry.

 _Wait! Don't hang up._

And… why?

 _Because… because I'm calling from a prison, miss._

Oh.

 _Y-yes… and to be honest, I don't want to waste my daily call. Plus, you have a lovely voice, if I may say so._

You're awfully polite for a criminal, sir.

 _And yet you still haven't hung up on me._

Yes, I'm too curious for my own good. My father used to say that.

 _Sounds like a wise man. But I assure you, I'm not a criminal. And if I am, it was for a good cause._

A regular Robin Hood, uh?

 _You're spot on. Actually, my name… is Robin, and I can't tell you how many times I've heard that joke._

The power of a name. How much time do we have left?

 _I'm afraid it's just two minutes. That's a shame, really. But I'll never forget your voice._

Why, how does it sound like?

 _I don't know… can you describe freedom?_

What a smooth talker. I may have to let you call me again tomorrow.

 _How can I, when I got the wrong number? Unless fate is so kind to let me guess yours again._

I'll tell you what the number is, if you tell me how much time you have left in that place.

 _Six months._

That's… awfully long.

 _And yet, if I can hear from you every day, they'll at least be happy._

Oh. Can I ask… what have you done, to get in there?

 _I… stole from a man who had too much, to give to my family. But you know, the rich always win._

I see. Well call me back, then. I think I can save five minutes a day for you.

 _Thank you. You have no idea of how happy I am to hear that. But wait… you never told me your name._

It's… Regina.

 _Hello there, Regina._

Yes, hello. I'm –

##

 _Dear Robin,_

 _I've just hung up the phone from our last call, and I already want to call you again. You should let me know when the next visiting hours are, so I can take a day off and drive there. I managed to phone your friend Will, and he was very helpful – he gave me this address, and told me he's actually jealous I get to speak to you on a daily basis._

 _This may be an unconventional way to start a friendship, and my mother is probably yelling at me from hell right now, but I don't care. I like talking to you, and I'd like to meet you._

 _By the way, we should maybe let Will have a little time with you too, don't you think?_

 _All my best,  
Regina _

##

Dear Regina,

I started this as soon as you exited the prison and I was back in my cell. Seeing you – in person, was the highlight of my week, and I actually couldn't believe you're so stunning. I should have imagined – if your voice is any indication, if your witty and ironic remarks are any indication, I should have known.

Thank you for coming, and just so you know, many of my inmates are quite jealous I got to see such a lovely companion.

Until next time,

Robin

##

Hello?

 _Yes?_

Good morning, milady. Slept well?

 _I told you not to call me that. But yes. You?_

Barely. I was thinking of yesterday afternoon.

 _What about it?_

Well, the wonderful cookies you brought me, for starters. Or the way you looked in that blouse.

 _I can't say I'm not impatient to see you in other clothes than your uniform._

Oh believe me, I am too. I mean, for you to see me. In other clothes. Or…

 _Or?_

I fear I'll be telling you the alternative… in due time.

 _Somehow I can imagine it._

##

Dearest Regina,

Thank you for your last letter. And for the packet. I think the guards have appreciated your baked goods, but they left a good half for me. The socks were adorable, and I really needed them. I wish I could send you things too – flowers, and scarves, and books. I will, one day. I fully intend to, if you'll have me.

Until our next,

Robin

##

 _My dear Robin,_

 _Don't worry about the things you can't change. Get well soon! Will told me you were feeling down, and I'm sorry. I do hope the infirmary is good enough to treat you properly, in that place. I enclose a picture – my godson took it yesterday, and I quite like how it turned out._

 _It may sound awfully romantic of me, and… I never told you this, but when I come to see you, I really hate the glass between us. I wish I could touch you. Just your hand. Or give you a hug._

 _For now._

 _Regina_

##

 _Hello?_

Yes, hello.

 _Are you alright, darling?_

I can't go on like this another two months.

 _Regina, my dear. I don't think you imagine how much I love how strong you are. We just have to hold on. Just a little bit. We did so well until now._

But… I miss you. Is it weird? I talk to you every day and I miss you.

 _It's not weird. I… darling, don't… don't cry. Or I'll cry too, and then the guard here will cry, and the whole prison will cry._

You're an idiot.

 _But you like me, right?_

##

Dear Regina,

Two days. I thank the sky every day, because they made me dial the wrong number. I don't think I'd ever be happy in this place, but you managed to make me a happy man, and I promise it won't go to waste, when I'm out of here. I intend to live my life at its fullest, hopefully with you. If you want.

All my love,

Robin

##

 _Dear Robin,_

 _Tomorrow is the day – and I cannot say how overjoyed I am. To be able to finally touch you, and hold you in my arms, and don't think I'll wait for our second date to kiss you. I won't waste a single minute. I've waited far too long, and you can bet I'm not going to let you out of my sight at least for the next six months._

 _Can you imagine, when one day we'll be able to sleep together and I'll wake up at your side, and all troubles will be easier to face because you'll be at my side?_

 _Also, yes._

 _Yours,_

 _Regina_

.


	59. almost dawn

_a small post-coronation fic, because i already miss ouat._

* * *

 **Almost Dawn**

Her day, although happy and full of joy, is inexplicably long. The sunset sees her tired, with her feet aching and an urgent need to go and lie down. The guests linger for a long time after the ball in her honor, the last of them reluctant to go and get on the road to reach their respective realms. She stays, though. With Snow and Charming and both Henrys and Zelena, she smiles until her cheeks start hurting and her head spins for all the toasts she's made today.

 _To the Good Queen, long may she reign_.

It still sounds weird, but one day she'll get used to it.

Snow and Charming bid her goodnight down the stairs, ready for bed and some long-awaited cuddles with little Neal. Emma's gone – Regina remembers the first months with baby Henry, so she won't fault the blonde and her husband their early departure.

But Henry – well, young Henry, because her oldest is gone with Ella and Lucy – Henry stays and kisses her cheek, with a glint of something in his eye. "Have a good night, Mom," he says, almost winking, and Regina says, _You too, darling_ , a touch of confusion in her gaze as she watches him go towards his room.

She goes up the stairs to her old chambers, her dress rustling on the hard floor as she opens the doors. She sighs. With a few steps, she reaches her vanity, looks at herself in the mirror for a moment before her hands go lift her crown. It's unexpectedly light – silver and diamonds, but crafted by the finest artisans so it doesn't weigh on her head.

Her eyes keep looking at it, as she undresses herself, as she combs her hair, spreads lotions on her skin. A crown. She has never worn a crown, when she was the Evil Queen. Today, it feels right – to have chosen this, to have hope in the future.

Her finger trails on the diamond in the middle. Robin would have fed a village for months with a diamond like this, she smiles. She just knows what he'd say… _But I trust you not to leave them starving anymore, your Majesty._

"I wonder if you'd be proud of me," she sighs to the sky, for a moment – the stars are shining, and she closes her eyes, shoulders dropping as a wave of nostalgia hits her. She's not expecting an answer.

So her heart almost stops, when she gets one.

"I most certainly am," a voice says.

Regina's breath catches, but she keeps her eyes closed, not to break the magic. She hears a sound, from behind her, but doesn't look. She feels a warmth from behind her, and yet she doesn't look.

"Regina," his voice says, the voice she's dreamed of so often. "Regina, love, open your eyes."

She just shakes her head, doesn't dare to open them. "You're a trick of my mind." She's gone crazy, she thinks. Years and years of therapy and good intentions and nightmares and this is her reward. The most cruel of tricks, just at the end of one of her happiest days.

"I promise you, I'm here," he tells her. A trembling sigh exits her mouth as she presses a hand on her stomach. A solid, warm hand settles on her shoulder. So she dares.

Blinks, the low suffused light of the candles is enough for her to see him in the mirror. Right beside her, his hand on her shoulder, his other hand on her forearm.

"I didn't mean to scare you, milady," he apologizes. "Or to ruin your coronation day. But you see, I couldn't wait to see you again."

"H-how?" she half-sobs, because this is a dream, has to be, she has hoped and then got shattered so many times now and it seems too _good_ to be true – his hands are real, so he has to be –

He takes her hand, the hand she has brought up to his, and she gets up, never stops touching him, she has to _feel_ if he's with her, and if maybe this time she can actually believe this _is_ true. " _How_ are you here?" her hands cup his cheek, the first tears streaming down her cheeks, and Robin smiles.

"A young author we know did me a favor," he tells her. "And a beautiful, newly-crowned queen united the realms, and I was never dead, my darling, I was stuck in a book with other Untold Stories. You brought me back. Well, to be fair, it took the work of Henry, Maleficent and the other Regina, but they did it."

She's full on crying now, sobbing and throwing herself to him like he's her lifeline, and he lets her cry into his neck, shushing her gently, almost rocking her. He's crying too, she can feel tears between her hair, but he's there, steady and solid and real, definitely there, his hand cupping her head.

"It's okay, my love," he whispers. "I know, I know…"

"I missed you," Regina sighs, not daring to look up, because her face most certainly is all puffy and red. "I missed you for twenty years, and I stopped trying to search for you, I'm – I'm _sorry_ …"

"It's alright," Robin answers, chuckling in her hair. "I'm here now, and this is true – I promise, I'll never let you go again."

It's her who initiates the kiss – they should talk more, she should apologize more and more because it was her fault, all of it, but she needs him, to feel him against her and to feel his lips on hers once again. It tastes like salt and happiness, her tears mixing with kisses as he circles her waist and she pulls him towards her, hoping, still disbelieving, because it has to be a dream… but he feels like himself, like it's always been, it's him…

They part, and she decides she can't wait anymore.

"I love you," she murmurs, her forehead falling to his, her hands on his cheeks. "And I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry about everything, and I love you so much, I…"

"Stop apologizing, Regina," he tells her. "I love you too, and please know that I would do it all again in an heartbeat."

"Don't you dare," she whispers, squeezing his forearm. "Once is enough. Don't you _dare_."

He smiles – infuriating moron, as if this is a funny subject, him _dying_ – presses a kiss on her lips and then, all of a sudden, bends slightly and picks her up from the floor. She squeals in surprise, her arms around his neck, as he peppers kisses on her cheeks, anywhere he can reach and he stumbles backwards.

"I think we have a lot of lost time to make up for, your Majesty," he smiles, as she pushes him down in the bed. For once, the title doesn't sound mocking, as it used to be years ago. She falls above him, and she presses him down as he looks at her with such _pride_ in his eyes – she sniffs again, her heart swelling.

"None of that now," Robin says, getting up to sit, his thumb brushing away her tear. "This isn't a sad day, my love."

She nods, pecks his lips once. "I'm just… overwhelmed," she says in a breath, quietly. "It looks like a dream, all of it, and I'm…"

… _scared I'll lose you again_.

He seems to know the words she didn't say out loud. "I know," he tells her, simply, and he knows, he always knows, it's one of the reasons she loves him so. "But I promise, you're not dreaming… Now come to bed, lovely. I need to feel you."

"Gods, yes," she agrees, kissing him again, fiercely, and finally her thoughts stop swirling and she loses herself in him, lets her emotions fly as they make love, slowly, silently in the candlelight. There'll be time for screaming orgasms and the bed rocking, but not now. Now, they reconnect, one soul searching the other in that convergence that's always been as easy as breathing.

.

It's almost dawn, and she hasn't slept a wink, but she feels fine. Tired, and her limbs are buzzing with the pleasant warmth of a long day, and her brain feels mellow, and she is immensely happy. She could stay all day like this, she thinks. Just here in a soft bed with Robin's arm around her and the lulling comfort of his heartbeat.

"So, the Good Queen, isn't it?" he says, as if he's savoring the words. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," she smiles against his chest, a blush warming her cheeks. She's had the best wishes of everyone she knows, but somehow his pride means something more, something better. "I'm… a little proud of me too."

"As you should be," he agrees. "You looked so beautiful, up there, with Snow and Charming. So happy, so… at peace with yourself."

"You were at the coronation?" she asks, her head turning towards him. "But… where? How?"

"Hidden," he chuckles. "Under a hood, in the shadows. I couldn't miss it. But Young Henry and I agreed that it would have been too much, all together. You'd have fainted, probably."

"Always so full of yourself," she raises an eyebrow at him, her chin digging into his chest. "But yes, maybe I would have. Or maybe I'd have thought of it as a cruel joke." She can't stop the last words, but Robin's brow furrows, and she immediately regrets them.

"Maybe it's time to admit, your Majesty, that you can be happy without cruel repercussions from destiny," he brushes a lock of hair from her face, with that gentle smile she missed so much. "I am happy I was your post-coronation surprise, then."

"The best one," she says, leaning in to peck his lips. "I feel selfish for keeping you here all night. There are, after all, other people who want to meet you."

"If you're talking of my daughter and my son, I met them," he informs her. Her breath catches, surprised, a pang of sadness when she thinks she wasn't there for that particular moment. "And everyone knows I'm back, my love. They've become good at keeping secrets from you, it appears."

"Yes, it appears so," she says. "Or maybe I'm just… distracted. You know." He brushes away a lock of hair from her forehead. "You're very distracting yourself, thief."

"I've missed you saying that," he moans, this time capturing her lips in a proper kiss, long and heated as his hand is pressed on her back and all she can feel is him, not the fresh morning air or the first birds chirping, just him and his skin and those kisses she's missed so much. When they part, she glances at him, thinking that maybe now she can surprise him. She untangles herself from his arms, climbs up and hugs him from behind. Maybe it's best if he doesn't see her face – so she doesn't give away the surprise.

"And did your daughter tell you about her… plans for the future?"

The confusion on his face, titled back to look at her, is enough for Regina to know that no, she hasn't.

He asks, but she shakes her head, smiles, kisses his shoulder and tells him he'll have to wait – and yes, it will be an unforgettable day, to see him and Hook as they escort their daughters down the aisle, but she doesn't tell him. After all, he's not the only one who can keep a secret.


End file.
